As happens with dreams,
I’ve lost the part between the peaceful place
where two roads crossed and soft horizon beckoned all around,
and being chased by a whale along sheer cliffs.
When I awoke, I was treading air made wet
by the whale’s breath — saved at four a.m. by the sound
of rain against the window.
I’ve been up reading ever since.
At the crossroads, my youngest son was there.
This house could be a ship.