Dream

People jump off a tree, out and into the water. Lights flash onto the slick marble walkway beneath. People are coming to get music from us. I jump into the water; make it back to my room. It is communal. An old ochre-painted bike leans against the desk. I put the CDs on the counter and match them with their covers. I am missing a Django Reinhardt cassette.

A guy, storming, says ‘I’m taking command.’
A woman requires a full-length black dress.

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I can hear the wind, the bell chimes blend like the revolutions of a teaspoon.

Two weeks ago I woke to the taste of Autumn in the air, the smell of the soil, brick and slate breathing out as the temperature returned above zero. I welcomed Autumn for the first time – my needles were not so sensitive that I immediately feared Winter.