Then, I Dreamt You

In the language of light,
I tell the stars: wait for me.

The woman in the shadows of a room
with her heart on fire is me without you.

My hands, scorched from reaching
too far, burn like wood, like gasoline,

like paper. And I remember who came
to my rescue, a creature of night,

all teeth and wings, claws and blood.
Now I wish I had not dreamt you or

trusted that you'd let me live.

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