Ache

I. Heavy wind, cold rain, & yes the starts, & yes these hands of mine. A dream in my chest molting, my dreams sheds its muddy, thunder-stained skin & asks for a heart of peony fields this time.

II. & The nights get heavy like they always do, i am older which means when u think of forests i get stuck not on the robin eggs but on the fox teeth. In my head i am hunting for myself, but i come up empty again. The night grows so wide it could be a cavern & i am somewhere undrneath it, inside it, lost. But travelers always leave lanterns behind & as i feel for the candle there arrives a memory of bronze-colored night.

III. So i dream, i dream, i keep dreaming. One word in my mouth crystallizes like sugar: hope.