He keeps telling himself, 
     “You can’t control your dreams,” 
which should lead to the 
      truism that he can’t control 
much of anything except, 
      perhaps, 
his response to his dreams. 
      And he did just that the other night. 
His dream took him back thirty-years 
      to his 
             “Before-Death-Intruded” life 
and in his semi-sleep, 
      he felt his stomach tighten 
              and tears well. 
      “Well,” 
and with that he reached 
      over and hooked a finger 
in his wife’s shorts, sighed 
      and fell into 
               a slumberous sleep.