I wake to dead lights
and the contents of the universe
surfacing like bones
from a tar pit, buried
in a way that preserves them forever.
The dark is a museum of things I have loved.

Remember the day world: the crooked
bones of winter trees, wrapped in trembling
mesh ribbons of birds

And in dreams, it’s the curse
of starfish meets guillotine.
Everything that regrows
gets severed again.