Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forgot they are horses.
It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we would dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means
These, our bodies, possessed by light.