by Anonymous

I dream of burning houses, my hands
around another’s neck.

Philosophy is not
for young men.

You dream of water
panta rei like a river.

Where is something solid?
Only you and me.

I know you cannot sleep,
but soon it will be morning.

I’ll make coffee,
donuts with sprinkles.

See the sunrise,
no grass out of place.

I know how much you love
mornings—

You are a wilderness
amidst the trash of towns

as plastic hurries undrowned
on the river’s surface.

This Midwest sun is real,
only burns you if you let it.

Please don’t forget
to put sunscreen on your forehead—

Don’t wake me
in my dreams

I hear your voice
like a song sung underwater.

Ice always in the river,
I’ll swim with you on my back forever.

Philosophy is learning
how to die.

You were always wiser
than me.

In the myth of Tantalus
the murdered child

rises from the dead,
but can what’s done be undone?

I’m not so sure.
Philosophy cannot tell.

This dream of you
is all that’s left.