The Hot Place
The dream began before my eyelashes were together,
And continued for three days.
Something I was avoiding would not be silenced, and the past was seeping into my fingers like blood.
I could still see the pointed toe leather buckles of my shoes
and feel the ice sculpture and candlelit atrium of vastness
with the unfamiliar faces peering curiously at me.
The high ceiling of lush plantlife and shutters
mocked my aloneness aloud.
The click of the bootheel against stone sidewalk at 4 a.m. utterly devoid of other human life,
cutting across lush grassy squares with lacy cuffs
and warm moon breeze;
Stop at the fountain and watch the water.
Still alone.
Always alone.
This solemn realm of stately architecture
and old money-
catches me longing every time.