I crawled into bed and closed my eyes and not long after heard the small hooves of the horses, the tiny ones that gallop in our dreams, or are they the dreams of our children, galloping through the black ruins. Everything we do is against the crippling light. To hear them cry at night is to know they are alive. When they are scared they come galloping down the long hall calling your name. Tonight, it is our oldest daughter, the red mare with her fiery mane, she snuggles in between us and falls back to sleep in your arms, to that secret place inside her, she barely moves, crossing over the river, through a grove of alders, through the black ruins, she is the one who once whispered, the grass it knows everything.
Sean Thomas Dougherty
I dreamed I was a mannequin in the pawnshop window of your conjectures. I dreamed I was a chant in the mouth of a monk, saffron-robed syllables in the religion of You. I dreamed I was a lament to hear the deep sorrow places of your lungs. I dreamed I was your bad instincts. I dreamed I was a hummingbird sipping from the tulip of your ear. I dreamed I was your ex-boyfriend stored in the basement with your old baggage. I dreamed I was a jukebox where every song sang your name. I dreamed I was in an elevator, rising in the air shaft of your misgivings. I dreamed I was a library fine, I've checked you out too long so many times. I dreamed you were a lake and I was a little fish leaping through the thin reeds of your throaty humming. I must've dreamed I was a nail, because I woke beside you still hammered. I dreamed I was a tooth to fill the absences of your old age. I dreamed I was a Christmas cactus, blooming in the desert of my stupidity. I dreamed I was a saint's hair-shirt, sewn with the thread of your saliva. I dreamed I was an All Night Movie Theater, showing the flickering black reel of my nights before I met you. I must've dreamed I was gravity, I've fallen for you so damn hard.