Last Night I Dreamt
The basement flooded and I watched the water fill the house to the rim. My books were ruined and I began to write my own.
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The basement flooded and I watched the water fill the house to the rim. My books were ruined and I began to write my own.
I am hugging a tree, grounded with roots descending deep into the earth, blood as sap circulates and nourishes my body.
My first time alone on New Year’s Eve, future uncertain, past unresolved. The desire for time travel escapes me.
We heal and grow big hearts from the shatters of explosive heartaches.
There once was a boy named Max. Not just an ordinary boy, but a boy who could fly.
I buy admission to the tattered big top amidst a hundred or more whose skin is the color of my own.
As your elder’s trunk snapped, you turned and ran, like a terrified child unsure which way the sky was falling.
I mulled over what I could have done differently. A crack in one of the hazy panes caught my eye. A fissure.
I remembered you on stage in Montreal with your guitar. How could you have picked up that gun?