In dreams, events follow one another but rarely
seem to be the consequence of some previous event.
A person can divide everything in this world
into events and objects. Or say that all objects
are actually events. Or say that all events are objects.
The word “actual” is difficult, contextual to this world.
And our time. In the bathroom mascara migrated
from eyelashes to skin and I wondered if I had been crying.
Lips nose gums present but numb. All the towels
were gone. At six am someone else came home. We woke
early, just past sunrise, and watched the ivy next door
blush like a child. How the cab had moved at night,
the steadiness of geography: I knew a left turn
would bring us to the church, and my house just past it.
I feel delicate, I say. And, I’m sorry. We smoke
out of your window. A flock of birds coils, then breaks apart.