Who speaks dreams? In dreams I never run my legs or mouth.
Other than wind, nothing speaks.
No history other than where the breeze is from in
unvisited north, as north as anyone in love,
ears full of clouds if the sky weren’t nude night.
Birds full on marine life disappear in desperate dark.
No crows or shanty songs from any nest.
Shells held imagined sand, no captured sounds.
Choirs of waves. Concrete carries no motion.
Nothing of the furious commotion of woodland soil
while gusts bloom sail canvases.
One house of many with no yards, open doors directly to sea.
Unlived houses alone with ocean, no neighbors
on foundations as even as a diligent god’s judgment.
Unnamed boats sink to night,
a lantern burns over dreamt steps as they
forget me, a small history.
You hold our daughter.
Only in that unspoken dream.