I dream distortions of who was
who was not, whose unformed mouth
sucked softly out my eyes
tore off my wings and dampened
my tongue’s dull cry.
That fetus bloomed in your dark-
wired nights and in an eagle’s garden
on a monstrous white morning
murder fell like a smooth cold sheet
and smothered the dreams
of that dead brain undreamt
through future stillborn nights.