a spider spun a web inside my dream catcher
and now no dreams at all get through.
my slumber is an empty canvas
but I leave the web and the spider and its new home
sitting safely laced between my dreams.
then one October night
like a gust of autumn air
you passed through the web,
slid down the feathers
and into my head.
we were running across the inside of my eyelids
but not towards each other.
you ran to him and I ran to her
and together, all four of us had eight legs
that carried us farther from those mornings
we lay awake, high on each other in the morning light,
and farther from the night you left me
alone in my mother’s basement
sleeping soundly underneath a dream catcher
that doesn’t even work anymore.