I awoke dreaming into the same town where my dreams take me in sweet encumbrance, always lonely, pacing or running, to or from, they are the same.
There is a castle there but I rarely go in, because I followed him once, screaming that I could not love him, into a basketball hoop forest, and arenas where the ground is caked with sandy blood.
Another time, I waited tables in a red and yellow diner with no walls, but they fired me for never showing up. “I am only here every so often,” I tried to explain, “like Pevensies and Michael J Fox.”
The lake once poured forth crocodiles, barely chewing the toes of my howling infants, breaking my mind with biting consistency.
And the hedge maze: cowering trampolines hide there, and rope bridges pass over elegant swamps.
Beyond a chipping playground, red paint and lead nightmares, lies the cave.
I wandered there this time, and upon arriving, felt your presence. I looked up and breathed. You had written my name, a thousand times, a thousand ways, a thousand cuts. I curled up inside your handwriting
like a closed tomb,
like a fragrant ocean,
like a pulsing womb,
like a rocking motion.