i could only have you in my dreams
you’re cinder-filled and wisping in the wind,
an ember in the night sky, white smoke a
ribbon around your throat. over and over,
i dream your hands into doves, gentle things
with slate-gray wings, and the feathers catch
in your spun threads, the silver web you sit in,
triumphant with your bloody teeth. you say
my name. your voice is a music i hear from
six feet underwater, the weight of you pressing
around me. i’m swimming and the surface
isn’t getting any closer. the birds sink
all around me, their wings torn, the dark
glass of their eyes unforgiving. you say my
name. it’s not my name. it’s a dream i wake
from, saltwater in my mouth, a drowning
settled like sand in the back of my throat.
