Tonight I should dream, I should be dreaming
Of the red cabin with the bleached white
Plastic rockinghorse out front in the aspens,
A ghost in the ghosts of the aspens. I should
Imagine I am no longer outside and passing
But inside and waiting for, for, for what I’m not
Sure. Tonight, when it’s still night, when it’s
Almost still, night of the small hours, the clock
Hours absurdly claiming morning, I should
Wait inside the red cabin for the white horse
To free itself from its existence as molded
Plastic on a rusted rocking frame, to canter
And rear, to become the pale woman with ribs
I can get my hopes around, with dark hair.
What I won’t know tonight unless it’s true
That I woke from the dream and didn’t dream
I woke from it, was whether what I dreamed I knew.
Whatever I dream or wake from dreaming, tomorrow
The horse and the cabin will still be in the woods.
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