[The first time anyone dreams anything solid]


The first time anyone dreams anything solid,

they come wilted down the hall.


Each time your fern is yellowing.

Each time your friend is hanging from a door.


So the ship comes and it tries to sail you.

Hear it?


The air. The wind.

Coming to eat you. Coming backwards down the hall


to lift you or at least to take your petals

somewhere else.


While the dreamer and their fanned-out fears

become phantomed in the mid-day light.


And your dream? What of it?

The body of whale and the whale of the body.


All one. All dream. All ocean and green thing,

come backwards. Come wilting.

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