She never knew she
was a dream, dreaming her
own past,
from a future
where living symbols
create aeons of being.
She never knew that the
art she curated,
the selfies and music
on the devices she thumbed,
echoed forward in space
but sideways through time.
Her essence shimmered,
mind unknowing,
with a side winder rattle,
and the harem she somehow always wished
was her destiny,
*was* her destiny.
It was like a long journey
in a boat full of sisters,
propelled by curved oars
and the breath
of sleeping giants.
It was fresh and new
but old as well,
older than the soft pastels
of the waves.
It’s good to have a glass again.
Drink from it deeply, my love,
and share your journey with your sensei,
your maker,
your progeny.
Lick the foam from my lips.
I’d like to incline
on the J of your spine.
That would be enough,
we said,
that should be enough.