dream town

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.