I dreamed my way back to the old farm,
with its straight lines and brutal corners,
the sick skies overhead pillowed
with the burden of all that endless work,
my cold hands moving objects bigger than myself,
waiting for something small within me to fail.
It was a relief to wake again in your house,
with its manic garden beating at the screens
to gain entry, to coax us out of ourselves,
its hummingbirds and gentle energy;
and your returning joy, knowing nothing
of the dark soil at the back of my mind.
first published in Dream Catcher, issue 32, 2015