A Dream of the Barren

She is a sweet dream

caught in a net

as if she was a

monstrous nightmare.

What bough broke

and dropped her

from the heights of glory?

She is a sweet dream,

built by misunderstood

prayer and words on paper

and the distance of mirage.

Ten fingers and tens toes

that will never grow.


Her father was a lie.


She was a sweet dream—

a sweet smoke like

wafting incense

caught in a wind

and carried away to

some fertile place

not my own.


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