dream

I see her hair blowing—that’s the first thing I see. I see her tan shirt blowing over the tan sand. She turns to me. My skin has finally unclenched the fingers of its seems. My eyes have misshapen back into water. My mouth has gone to its childhood, transported back where a mouth was a red leather. I’ve spilled, running through a granite groove. the mind has been evaporated leaving only the warmth trapped in by the sun and the window, and not the window itself. Nothing but convection. she turns to me, and every word between us is spoken in the loose fabric wrapping, the shoulders a perfect arrow and the chin a compass turning the day into night. my feet are at her feet and I reach out for her but she falls into me. the way you tug on something ripe enough so that the gesture of the reach is enough for the give. I kiss her. The movements are from one source, one movement. And I am kissing the darkest part of origin of myself. I am kissing the beginning warm and old without anything to hold it or hold on to. I m standing in the center of the center. The sand is drained, I am drained. I am joy, I am resolved. I’ve let go of the deep wish that would have risked my life had I let it speak, the secret that I kept in the gel of my atoms where nothing was sharp enough to rip. I’ve let the membrane get thin by despair, I’ve let myself get soaked and thin so that the wish could leak or fly. I kiss her. I’ve consented to disappear. I’m gone/ I’m home.