Anaftermath

I am dreaming of toxic remains,
transitory elements
loosening from residual silken desire,
falling leaves.

The burial is me as is rebirth.
There is in this motion
a momentary loss of energy
yet a gain in vantage point.
Fallen leaves:

Up here,
the dead on the shores are also visible,
as are our trails, before and after
that traumatic sojourn.

The tent is the color of trees at night,
the forces of time holding it together,
while we slumber within the shadows of its folds.

As the dream goes on,
you breeze in
wearing a cloudy headband
which disperses as you move,
wafting a trail of mist behind you.

I stand like a tree as you approach.