I dreamed I was pregnant and talked with an accent
Outworn and itchy.
I dressed in pink, flowered erythema
Icelandic seaweed, Jutlandic roads.

I'm on the gravel path
I creep along rose bushes
Empty grounds, the cottage by the railroad tracks.
The outline of two people, dipped in gold leaf
Half asleep in a waiting room.
My eyes are glued with a sigh.

Sweep my brittle enzymes into your
Superannuated dim rainy wet
Undressed rootless shivering outcast
Understanding.
I have been hiding
In your cold, restrained anger
In the rusty machinery
On the marshy bottom of you consciousness
I could not breathe.

Now I say your name.
Your aching name.
Pulled out of
My sloshing hierarchy of smoothness and sorrow.