I come to
against gnarled roots,
arms in crucifix position,
my waist below water...
Dawn greets me,
unsurprised,
she cleans
the blood from my face.
The roots against me
like the last lover-
there are no thorns
but I wouldn't call it comfortable.
We stumble home.
We recover.
Crossing the door,
we feel the fire.
A voice says, "This is another chance."
I say, "At what?"
No answer.
It might have been my imagination.
Dawn chuckles
and feeds me.
Night drapes about us
but it is only dark outside.
Drifting, I think,
"Maybe this time
the dreams
will differ."
No comments:
Post a Comment