Try

The soft pad of bare feet

mine

overlay the constant hum of the fan

Air swirling in the open ceiling

settling

over half-built walls

Walking towards the West

I approach the moon

Which casts long shadows over the frozen, sleeping

lake

I came to bathe

in this early morning light

I start at my feet

Coaxing tight muscles to release, wake up, connect, ground

Moving up the body,

Shaking my legs

Then hips

Undulating on the warm rug

Mimicking a large cat

I come to all fours and ease onto the small bed

Facing the windows to observe the moon

The only problem is I can’t see the moon

I can only see light

The suppleness of my body and the bed

Pressed by the warmth of a blanket

Pulls me under

Down

Down

Down

--

I’m breathless by the time you reach me

as if your absence

pulled all the oxygen out of the house

I rest in your arms

each inhale a reminder that we have not died

yet

Painfully I peel my body away from yours

As I realize that I’m dreaming

Here, now

we are not friends, but lovers

“What year is it? Who’s the President?” I always forget to ask…

I forget again and leave the questions unsaid.

Instead, I say what my body has already revealed

“We’ve been waiting for you, come, see the children.”

They’re his, but are they mine?

I touch them

with affection and sincere love.

One boy, one girl

so close enough in age I can’t tell who’s older

She is softer,

more concerned

with everyone’s comfort and internal landscapes

He is crafting bold moves

attempting to bring the energy

of a Savior – just like his father

Finally, I meet his gaze.

I know these eyes so well, yet, I’m so confused

Why are we here?

Who is coming to get us?

Last I experienced we were friends, never lovers.

Here we are lovers fighting to love a little longer.

I race around the house

locking doors with a series of turns, holds and twists that leave me feeling more frustrated than anything…

Stupid Anderson Doors.

How are we safe here?!

Doesn’t a home just yell, “Humans inside!”

I yearn for nature… a forest filled with trees,

each unique

unable to be differentiated by the unfamiliar eye.

Fear turns my memory fuzzy

We’ve left the houseHigh on a precipice my hand shoots out with the precision of a reptilian tongue

grasping firmly to the center of a long-range drone.

What I’m doing is illegal.

They’ll see my face.

Intuition whispers, “this expenditure is worth exposure”

I’m in disbelief

How do these exist?

Why are they allowed?

Who sent this?

Rolling the missile in my palm

Clear writing becomes visible along the shaft

The owner, a religious organization

--

I wake up hot

full moon now visible

floating above pink mountains

amid a cool blue sky

Perhaps the impossible is possible

only one way to know

try