dreams are like tethers in reverse.
instead of keeping us tied to earth,
they keep our strings connected
back to where we came from—like
the soft lines of an old, old, tree
flowing up to the tallest peak.
once you climb it,
the only place up
is the moon;
there are more characters in my dreams
than people in my real life, more land-
scape, more running, more hunting, more
flying: like the husbandry i was made for.
the only thinking is the construct i’m in,
and that’s already accounted for. there’s
no room for narrow cerebral being when
the primordial is tugging at your insides.