| You are scared of what travels through your dreams, |
| a man chasing you to stick a needle in your eye, |
| |
| a wolf on fire crashing through the |
| sliding glass door. An invisible creature |
| |
| stealing two red squares from your brain- |
| one filled with sunsets, one with blood. |
| |
| In the daytime, you are not quite comfortable |
| buckled into your car. You don't have faith |
| |
| in boundaries. Your skin is heaven and |
| hell all mixed. Death wobbles |
| |
| on the life line. Memory soaks your |
| white shirt, and the air around the edges |
| |
| of your heart makes you dizzy. What |
| was open is now closed, but |
| that doesn't make you feel any safer. |
| |
| —Sally Doyle |
