May 09 , 2021

Dylan,

I should tell you about my dream last night before it slips away—we were walking through a magic orchard, filled with milkweed bursting into clouds.

There was a tiny cabin. We climbed to the top and watched the full moon rise. I knew it wasn’t a particular full moon but every full moon, and we watched them rise from the roof and every hilltop in Vermont all at once. There were more shooting stars than we could count and the sand was sparkling underfoot.

The world around us stopped. We scampered down a river of rocks and built a mud yurt in the field while searching for evidence of our ephemeral existence in the woods.

We woke up sleeping outside and found ourselves lost in a liminal space as darkness descended. You helped me move the moons and I helped you build a house, then I accidentally locked myself out. You were stuck inside, wrestling with a lizard—the psychic siphon draining your soul—and I left you there fighting for your life. Alone.

I woke up startled but covered my eyes and willed myself back to the dream. Back to this moment at the beginning, on the roof of the cabin, when my ear was pressed against your chest and I could feel your poems reverberate inside my body — it felt like I was home.

Dylan | Florence, MA | December 2020