We ride out to the edges of my dream.
Tired horses. An unraveling of time.
I look back at the vultures on the road.
We have our guns but no more ammunition.
Do you remember houses stapled to this mountain?
The dangerous-when-wet stairs to the beach?
Do you hear the storm-stoked waves wolf down the sand?
Today gives up at dawn and fades to night.
.
.
.
Sometimes when too tired to read a book it is easier to dream one.