1. heavy wind, cold rain, & yes the stars, & yes these hands of mine. a dream in my chest is molting. my dream sheds its muddy, thunder-stained skin & asks for a heart of peony fields this time.
2. & the nights get heavy like they always do. i am older which means when i think of forests i get stuck not on the robin eggs but on the fox teeth. in my head i am hunting for myself, but i come up empty again. the night grows so wide it could be a cavern & i am somewhere underneath it, inside it, lost. but travelers always leave lanterns behind & as i feel for the candle there arrives a memory of bronze-colored light.
3. so i dream, i dream, i keep dreaming. one word in my mouth crystallizes like sugar: hope. ( c )
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