I pad around
in a dark house, before the sun comes
up, remembering
my life like the details
from a book i read
when i was younger -
the plot is gone, the characters
have faded, the places are distant
cloaked in my memory's own re-writing, formed now
to better suit my unconscious intentions:

i wanted the girl to live forever,
her cat was a dog, with one eye of each color,
the tree outside her house was shaped
like a mountain, it rained every day,
and the boy
who lived across
the street liked her back,
even if they never met.

she grew up, married
a poet, listened to music while she slept
and loved the quiet morning hours
when the earth was soft and she
could
shape it
with the slightest touch
of her mind.