I dream of blue,
few answers through;
all questions lost,
returned to you.
at the prayer’s first warning,
quiet futures hover.
At the edge of constellations,
a mongoose saves its next meal from
“I’ll promise to hold the pots up high,”
you murmur we walk the starlight home.
If only, only if you promise
to let the waters gentle
as we set them down.
In a garden with infinite libraries, I ask
“What’s our most delicious delusion?”
never to slice my history into patterns.
Teeth slide, rooted languages
hover over skin.
In the sky,
I’ll dream the roads back home.
Will you stay for afterbites?
The image was taken in Corvallis, Oregon.