Border Crossing

I dream of blue,
few answers through;
all questions lost,
returned to you.

One dawn
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
my actor,
“What’s our most delicious delusion?”

I promise
never to slice my history into patterns.

Teeth slide, rooted languages
hover over skin.
In the sky,
cobalt waltz.

I’ll dream the roads back home.
Will you stay for afterbites?


The image was taken in Corvallis, Oregon.

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