The vandals are dreaming, wolves are dreaming,
The horses are staked to their deaths.
In the poem of the vandals dreaming
A word bites through a lip,
Drawing blood. (The poem is in ruins.)
The vandals dream their arms unseen,
Dream themselves buried in the belly
Of the birthing mare, as a foal is
Torn to life. (The poem is banal
As the barn is bloody.)
And you and I, and you and I, we steal
Each other’s blankets, wrap ourselves
In darkness, wind, in anything
The night will let us, to feel safe.
Do you feel safe? (Soft,
The vandals sleep.) Because a word
Is a dream of its meaning, you and I
Must dream the vandals dreaming:
Soft, the horses nicker in the barn.
(Soft, our poem begins as vandals dream.)
Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 1999
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.