I dreamt I was translating a poem. It was in Greek. It was in Czech. I had lenses that I put on which allowed me to see the words in English, though some of it I understood anyway. The light had to be just right for the lenses, so I had to adjust and squint. I was at the beach near my hometown. I was on a Mediterranean island where I’ve never been. I was an adolescent. I was an adult. Boys were teasing me; they’d stolen my translator glasses. I was an expert, an English teacher. I went diving in the waves and surfaced, disoriented and laughing. When I awoke from the dream, I knew the poem had been about childhood and summer and innocence and love, but I don’t remember any of the words.