In my dream I lift the board to reveal what’s been growing underneath: gently glowing fiddlehead ferns.

In my dream I cannot find the argument that will shame the adolescent boy who carelessly kicks over the stuff I’m looking at.

In my dream my arms are barely connected to my shoulders.

In my dream their blackened legs move slowly.

In my dream our options are lined up and wet.

In my dream we fly, skimming the warm ocean water until it is too shallow and our feet sink into the silky sand of the ramp.

In my dream the award show is so crowded I can hardly raise the sleeves of my caramelized onion suit to my mouth to nibble on them.

In my dream we discuss the need for a big wall in the studio and then I accidentally crumble a small sculpture of a cow sitting at a desk, forgetting how fragile the sugar is. A bird shits on my leg, just where the shorts end.

In my dream all that’s left is a sense of space, full and decending.

In my dream: greenery.