In the dream Robert didn’t know where he was.
An image of his brother hung before him. It was
white paint on black paper. The eyes closed;
the mouth slightly open. The mouth moved
and said it is 1955. He didn’t know what to say.
No, no, it is 1787, said Robert. The discrepancy
was awkward. The brother in the painting smirked.
Behind the painting were clouds and blue orchids.
The white oval of the brother’s head peeled itself
from the paper. It bobbed away off into the distance
as a buoy cut from its rope might move out to sea.