The dream seemed to be during some Civil War,
     yet my side was unclear did that matter?

I was a prisoner chained to you:
     a hazy, unworried captor.
It was then, while we were building a supply bridge,
     that the tidal waters afforded a quick escape.
No one saw... though you wised up
     as I was brushing by the bend.
Up through stark nettle trees
     and hissing sharkskin grass blades
till to a swamp I came and dove in
     where the occasional alligator grinned.
Under a skin of slim, sickly green, I waited 
     another den beginning to erode my body.

Soon I feel the string-plucked vibrations
     of him, his feet, his heart sinking in mud.
A dark chip of bark appears with outreaching vines,
     but I drag them down, choking this intrusion.
The water holds us, bubbles reluctant,
     eyes gold-deepening; my hands ring this weed,
my mouth seals its rough, parted sepals,
     and I steal breath... as the light steals away mine.
You diminish in stygian gloom,
     and I clear the surface's wake.