The drums sounds of a night
glistened with vintage flame
Sleepwalking, or am I?
Echoes of your bird name,
lilacs undone on the sidewalks.
I cannot lay and wake
but only with the Night,
Holy, buried Night,
Lakes, moons, swims, pianos, reverberate
The red dress I wore
The suit you crumpled and crushed
In our forest, silent film,
Gestures tell secrets
Dreams of imaginary memories amplify,
“Off the map, where the wild things grow.”