but it's not a dream.
it's something else,
a feeling,
a dark wind blowing through
my mind
in the shadows of night,
through corridors of light.
i dream about her.
i see her at the bottom of the sea.
floating.
her eyes closed, behind
her medusa hair,
her life
over.
mine just beginning.
i see the starched white
bones
of her.
the glitter of scales now
piled
upon the sand.
i smell the salt and stench
of who
she really was, the cold
green brine
of seaweed.
the lumber of dead ships,
sunken without sails,
coming in on waves.
and the sea and everything in
it
taking what's left
of memory.
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