bounding beneath the expectant arc
of your burial chamber walls
your flickering Platonic shadow
multiplies and digests itself
again and again

awaken your life,
awaken next to stone and dirt,
and listen to the dull yells
of those ancient molecules,
brimming in their hardness

you scrape the dirty walls,
coloring underneath your fingernails
and you remember a thousand desires
for the garments of exposed women

and then you sleep

and dream the innocence of forests:

of morning dew spread out
as if by a heavy sneeze

and you recall
an old woman's cracked,
cracked lips and the thousand memories
of wind and rain that have pressed themselves
against her to drive her into the earth,
like gravity itself

.....................................


a cluster of flowers appear
and you take the petals into your mouth
and it tastes like your future,
your death

yet you wake and remember none of this,
and there is a droplet of moisture
somewhere on your own lip
that is quivering with the revelations
in those dreams

but with unconscious recklessness,
you wipe it away