Michael’s Forest

I dream of the desert
A dry lake
And me the withered tree, decorated with stars
bent over and desperate for
water

I dream of the ocean,
a tumultous glass body
and you: a woman in a paper dress
arched above me like the vault of the sky:

a mirror of my enigma
My pure, turbulent longing

for you, for me:
for the mountain of rapture in
the distance

I dream of him (in me)
who never sleeps
a warrior in my mind:
a nomad, a vagabond,
someone broken (like me)
like the caves of long ago..

In him is a compass
spun out of control

nothing guides him,
the way nothing guides me
the way illusions imprison him:
they also imprison me:
we are both victims

inside of us is a dream
that will never
come to pass:

we are both fertiles worlds forever
made deserts.