ALL THESE WANDERINGS HERE
I had a dream I died
on some open plain,
horse between my legs,
riding under the night sky
with nothing but the
gentle thump of hooves
to ease my death-rattled mind.
Between the
sky-pierced peaks
and water-laden plains
my soul drifted up and out
my skin and settled
somewhere on the
far side of the moon
where it made camp
with old native gods,
nameless chieftains lost
to carbines and brushfire.
As we talked
I dreamt of life and
all the things I should’ve said,
namely, the names of those
I should’ve loved,
those sweet nothings whispered
for no one else but you—
these empty notes
a remnant of the song
we left unsung.
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