From questing dreams.

Road surrounded
By water.
Working out a way
To get somewhere.

The natives are restless…

Rickety wooden stairs,
Peeling gray paint,
Leading to…

Car won’t go.
There are lions.
Wrong shoes,
And I wish I had
A stockingcap.

Let it be
As it will be.


The tops of the trees
Are orange,
And the woods
Are always
Just over there…

I carry a worn hardcover
That smells reassuring
Like old books do.
Fingers run along
Rough-edged pages.

Six or seven cages,
But I’m alone here.
Break all the locks
And doors,
Looking over a shoulder
To be sure
No one will stop me.

My love
Requests the poem.

Put on a mask.
Smells of leather.
Threats threaten —
An undefined darkness
Rising from the water.

Wake up!
The woods are always
Just over there.

And my sweet speaks
Of a sick dream,
Attempts to escape.

Car starts,
Dylan on the radio,
Yer gonna make me lonesome
When you go.

I sheathe
The unknown sword.

Alternately driving
And riding,
I trade places
With the stranger.

Flock of geese,
Highway across the
Waterlogged floodplain.

We move on,
The road appearing
Where we need it
To appear.

Spider descends
In alarmclock light.
2:21 a.m.

About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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