at the smoke-blue tower
of this dream.
i was curled
tighter than a fist,
pressed
closer than a seed,
immured
behind walls
thicker than flexed muscle.
when i breathed
the dream breathed with me.
the hilt of the dream
against my side,
the blade of the dream
deep within.
the tower was small
and blood trailed,
easy as tears,
down its stairs
like a face.
the knocking is
like an invocation.
the knocking is
like an invocation.