I was the glass

This is where I had the dream, in the gray light of a rainy morning.










Can't shake a dream I had last night; or rather, a vignette from one of several intricate dreams that flowed one to the other, connecting all the disparate rivulets of my life into one stream that ran into an unseen, enigmatic ocean.

I dreamed I was dreaming, and had a blood orange, and I halved it, giving one half to West Coast who was lying next to me in bed as I dreamed. He didn't even look at it (how could he ignore that color; that scent?), but stretched out his arm and in one hand crushed the fruit, sending a stream of dark juice onto my belly. The juice was copious, it pooled, it stained the white linen sheets, and he crouched between my legs and drank it in thirsty swallows. I woke from that dream within the dream feeling like an empty vessel, but there was no time to understand, for I was already being swept into another dream.

I woke again (and finally) to rain and the knowledge that a decision had been made for me by a dream.

So sure am I, I even took a picture. I don't want to let myself forget.