Sand dreams

The dream is the same, with
sunsets like fiction and sand dunes, singing and moaning
making noises real-life scientists can't explain
(something to do with synchronization, the expanding and contracting of
millions of microscopic pieces of glass, their colors matching like beads from a
broken necklace)
The dream has an emptiness above the sand but below the sunset
that quiets and seduces and reduces you until you panic because
what is this feeling my organs collapsing because I am so small when
everything is so big
We break bottles and so sand multiplies,
keeping secrets we didn't know we'd lost
We break bottles because something must be smaller
than us (but we dream on and do not know why, precisely, it is
we do the things we are doing)
And the dream feels good, remember? Because we know we can forget it in the morning,
opening our eyes to unbrushed teeth and the unnaturalness of a bed tells us that
no such desert can exist, no such crawling sand
because everything in this room was built by hand, and I don't break bottles
or necklaces.

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