Birth Day

My dream was carried on the crest of a wave, guided polarlike by the moon. There I was, pulled like a stubborn tooth, toward you; my little gaps are only quaint reminders, spitting blood to make room for wisdom teeth.

In Ohio, I trespass, dancing on the perforation between rows of corn. My head is elsewhere, next to the ocean, and my heart is somewhere in Oregon. I never did return your phone call.

Floating on my back, my face is exposed, tickled by the sun. Fish trace my back, follow me, like usual. Somewhere, you found a song to dance to. Somewhere, my dream reached the shore.

July 17

Those were the days, when the tide knew, when the water smelled of chances. There was a time when my feet were sure, when smiling faces greeted me from the shore. It's from the shore I came, my eyes new and unable to focus, the sun warming my newly-formed face. I was lead to the water by that warmth, and I felt my way toward home.

Drowsy

Dreams dash like deer, sudden and frightened. It's a Saturday night, and the sheets are wrinkled. Half awake, you still sense the wild, its tail up over the horizon. Ideas burst, little flashes of light, and the wrinkles in the land resemble roads on a map. But deer do not follow: the truth is obnoxious. Somewhere underneath all these blankets is a fact or two. You smooth the sheets with your palms. You realize the only thing to trust is sleep.

Lullaby

I may never meet
your other friends, the ones
tucked away in the corners
of my brain, their faces
a blur of sand and clouds.
For a brief time,
you and your stories were home
to me. We still wash
each other's feet
in my memories, our toes
stretched far enough
to ache.