There was a fire under our dreams.
When we woke our skin was scars,
our eyes were scales of wax,
our wrestling arms the kindle,
and every softly spoken word the wick
of weathered kindness.



We had come out of the mossy fog
dreaming of being ourselves,
whatever it is that we are.

Shivers of air and current
between our fingers and foreheads flowing
out into the black of space
between our skin and eyes.

When I was a child I knew
a smile was a new born fusion,
and when we dreamt
we were born again
with our heads down in the grass
whispering dramas
in the leafy pews of god.

Have I lived before or have I always been with you,
Even before our bodies were molten merging gas?
Were you there with me at the beginning?
Will you be there when I breathe my last?