I dreamt yesterday. Of a city in the desert, of a trench that stretched on for miles, that poured forth dreams, both real and nightmare.
We dug down deep, our blood mixing with the mud, staining the rocks and leaving them black.
We hurried to release our bodies, always just below the surface. Only one more inch and we’ll breathe in the heavy air. Drink into ourselves a new sun that’ll lead us to the waking world of the living.
People are stacked, one on top of the other, but there was no one pushing aside their neighbor for early release from the weight.
Each knew that soon their time would come.
I watched a woman, standing alone and searching. She stood on a corner, face lined with worry, but no tears. She was not absent of hope, but still she searched for what was already in her possession.
Tiny pinpricks of light scattering across the sky do not brighten the shadows. I don’t want them to; the night is my favorite part of the day. In darkness, I see color more brightly as my imagination soars.
Coarse laughter around a table that reminds me of warm maple syrup; in another place, another table wore smooth by a multitude of Sunday mornings.
A flash of tranquil blue, she is patient with the knowledge of what lies just below the surface of a man’s heart. Her eyes refuse to see the lies written across our flesh.