Cumulus. Two mares spliffing the
With their warm nostrils.
The moon like someone’s large
Lost outside the window.
Ebb of darkness. Bleared horizon.
Death’s small cassia in the
Roundabout in the gentle
The oneironaut tumbles through
Searching for a sign. The mother
He’s not sure exists follows him
until he wakes.
In the morning he finds birds
Composing near his bedstand.
While he slept their sound
entered his dreams
As a mountain’s distant singing,
A waterfall’s voice, a lovesick
The small thump of a cardinal’s heart
Which in the strange dark of
Whistled through his head like a peacetime air raid,
Like a massive stroke of light.