Trace

By Gwen Luden


Tell me about the dream where we walked through the desert to get lost,
but found more answers than wanted.
How it was late, the light’s luminous,
the trees given the choice to speak but deciding to stay silent.
It’s not like the hills behind the houses, but like the water droplets surrounding a cold glass,
how we closed the blinds so we could sleep, and the weather was grey,
and every time we sang there were more oranges to peel.
Look at the light reflecting off the bleachers.
That means it’s dusk, that means we’re free.
Tell me how all this, and dreams too, will guide us.
These, our souls, possessed by promises.
Tell me we’ll never feel the same thing twice.