Blackbird Archive← v18n2, Fall 2019Poetry · Volume 18, Number 2
Untitled (the dream is crying )
the dream is crying and running
dressed in the wind
I thought barefoot
like a color
do you feel my hands upon your face?
the shore also has a dream
the waves
another
they are your hands too
the swaying
motion of the skyline
above the falls
fragments of red brick and translucent
embers
inside my heart
a skeleton
shaves with an electric
razor
my mouth wet paper
the rain
without
getting away
the rain like leaves
the lemony
scent of hands
near me
in bitter or soft voice
like an embrace
or face
