that night, she dreamt of trains
she dreamt of winding northbound tracks
and of wandering southbound birds
and tracing the patterns of their flight
on a tinted window
the birds were larger than she remembered
a thousand times larger and a thousand times more golden
she dreamt of a little girl with hair the color of a dry spell
and eyes the color of a rain dance
and of the maps she used
to pretend that there was no such thing
as distance
she dreamt of a woman with fingers
thick as telephone lines
who had a handshake that was stronger and surer than the devil’s
and she remembered when she first met the devil
he took the form of a strange-eyed man with delicate bones
and blew into town on a wind so warm and mild
that they mistook him for a cloud of spring dandelions
and for a season he sold such lovely wishes
such harmless, affordable wishes
that it was a shame to see him go
she dreamt of a baby boy with beautiful, blasphemous skin
a darling infant antichrist
almost weightless in her arms
with a smile crooked like a hammock
a rope swing
a clumsy paper boat that danced like a naiad in a swirling green creek
and she dreamt of moonless nights when the air was
as warm and thick and dark as the bottom of a cup of coffee
and the exceedingly bright summers
that once existed in a state of delicious permanence
and she thought she remembered a road with a humble name –
a road, lovingly traveled, that led to
a familiar nowhere
that she once knew by heart