You say you have your sights set
jigging like a lure through the thermals.
promising you will return before I wake.
as a burlap sack of flour spilling into our bed.
in lucid dreams until I am plucked clean
Your watch clicks from a bureau drawer
the electric heat whirs still in the oak and
Here in the house all goes noiseless
your misfires, while I lie barren and
Earlier version previously published in Ad Hominem Art and Literature Review, 2010
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