Crossposted from Elsewhere In Dreams

The sand might as well be
lava on the hot days.
We had to cross that small desert
to get to the green diving board bracketed
against high, smooth rocks.
The relief contained its
own affliction,
as always.

We were all a lack of parents.
I imagine they slept and slept
and woke to make dinner and then slept again.
We died a thousand times
with no one looking
but rose again with stray
lures in our fingers.
We stole canoes and paddled
to the island where we looking in
all the windows.

I can’t imagine my child doing those things.
I am too much a slave of death to allow it.

This place no longer exists,
of course.
It’s been sold and divvied out
to the landowners.
I have my own family now
but we can never escape the city’s hum and crumple.
There exists no place for it
out there or
in here.