Dreams I Had While You Were In Prison

In the house of mirrors where the night is a panther’s dress coat

and immortal women dance with their human lovers,

your ex wife comes to dance also, even more beautiful than I imagined.

I can see you watching the ripple of the muscles in her back as she takes another in her arms,

barely containing her appetite.

I am sharply aware of my soft skin,

my noisy breath. I am sharply aware that I am still alive only because you will not let anyone harm me in the house of mirrors-

anyone but you.

In the dream, I trust you,

even as the molecular darkness draws the heat rising from the road outside,

catches in your canines,

caresses the glossy swell of the motorcycle’s tank.

This is how you look tonight: an animal at the dance,

predator lover.

And I: no immortal.

Ride beside you.

This, my penance,

I sing my lines

as though any spell can help me now,

as though my mother can hear me,

as we speed together through the stricken jaws of the city,

3:37am now, deepest silent underworld,

darkest roar of reward.

But baby the world is young, so young,

and what you want will come,

which is actually the thought that grips me awake,

far from you.

I am still on this side of the bridge waiting

without my heart,

without a home,

trembling with a feeling I can no longer name.