you can tell this isn’t my dream
because it’s quiet. this person
dreams in rhythm, an even hum
under their skin. they lie naked
in thick green grass. a lover’s
hand pressed against their tan

back, protective. no sweat.
no crying. no morphing faces
or floors dropping away. just
dragonflies dancing on their
fingertips. cloud animals. berry
breath. part of me misses action

or expects it. why should they
have it so easy? with heavy boots
i stomp through the grass, flattening
the green, blocking their sun with
my shadow. i whisper a word
so quiet they can’t understand
and watch the rhythm,

s t u t t e r.

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*54/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. All photos are mine.