there were times when, drinking coffee on the ferry,
we thought these were the dreams of children, times
when making it to the mainland was not an achievement: (there are unknown roads named after how well our bodies connect)
we knew other ways existed. making our way up the stairs,
the baker and the cat watching, all these things we tell, the juvenile, the karatina mats, the inside jokes we don’t laugh at,
cotton candy on loita, the bats, motorbikes to nyali,
paper cups – the long dream, the international association for the study of dreams, your school with the new curriculum, the children left behind, the children we don’t have, the stupid genius we’ve come to associate with the children of the rich, and the poor home-schooled children,
all the queer withdrawal of sink holes in our imagination,
the way we have come to forgive each other, there are ways we forgive each other, you and I,
not making love really buy finding an excuse to play capleton. naming kittens.

& the dream of the night comes to us

so slow we question it’s intention,

the dumb heaviness of red wine, your heavy hands on mine. the ferry arrives & I’ve stolen just enough sugar for you.


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