The kind of things my dreams tell me

This is a piece I really love. I thought I should share.

I dream sometimes of suns—
They are lost in this cave of storms,

I dream sometimes of storms
On skyward reins of a thirsty earth

As ants, burdened, yet a grieving shadow
To exiles of sap, drawn as moons
Here

And I hear them scuttle only where
Papa’s wine usurps mother’s breasts;

Lone as the tongue that recalls, as our
Roof who casted mangoes used to kiss.

I dream sometimes of kernels, earthed,
As marooned tribes of the world—

Burrowing voices, a mind’s penance
Shriveled in time’s progression
Here

I dream of barns, for now I see walls
I dream of dance, for now I see haste

Lest, seeing, I mourn for eternities
That receding skin where furrows lie;

All that lies mocks a dying cloud
Survived by long forgotten mists…

Lover, you have become as mist
I dream sometimes of you in sessions:

“Do you miss me?” “When will you return?”
PHONE STATIC— “Have a nice day now.”

Or a nice month it was. Or year. Or decade.
Incessant fears prolong the path of hope

Yet I dream sometimes of your touch
Upon this dangling telephone wire.

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