sitting up suddenly
he waved his arms
against the swarm
of dragonflies in the soft darkness
filling his bedroom—
then he realized
he had been dreaming—
no dragonflies, only darkness, waking—
he breathed deeply and reached
for the dream still swimming in his mind:
her feet were bare—
toenails painted dark blue
with a trail of ants crossing
the soft soft skin of those feet—
“may I hold your ankle” he asked—
“yes” she said “but don’t disturb the ants”
but he could conjure no more of the dream—
though he could feel the touch of her skin
the hardness of ankle bone beneath that skin
then he began to wonder
if he had left a part
of himself in her hometown house—
if he could mark inanimate things
with the force of his being
with the weight of memory
like the organic tattoo
his hand left around her ankle—
the faint oil of his skin on hers
there briefly that day
beyond any eyesight—
there forever in the web of his memory
No comments:
Post a Comment