A Dream Dependent

Overnight, they circled. Surfaced. If I

had kept whites wide awake, I would

have, might have, seen the hoop not

yet sprung at dusk come up, have

watched slim parasols rise & spread; you

never can tell where webs descend,

where filaments thin as hair creep in

to mat a lawn’s under-rot. You’re

not sure of this ration of magic, that grown

from nothing, these caps aren’t dream—

nothing comes so easily, in dappled dark, eyes

double blink—a mower’s blade would

make quick work, strong-armed light have

its way & shear translucent shade. You

too could step inside the ring, be

disappeared to dancing. So many ways a

body can be undone, undo—unconscious-

ly I want mine to, to shrink as citizen

of sod—my god, I pray to not prey, but—of

my own accord, I can no more raze this

loop than turn sun to terrible

sweet—syrupy dew sags each stalk &

watch how ribs flip inside out, break to beautiful

busted gills—like one ruin could salve the world