Dream Sequence (i)

I dreamt I tore all my hair out,

then stretched myself limb from limb

until my arms circled the world

and I still couldn't reach you.

I wove you a cloak,

adorned it with my teeth and bones,

wished it would protect you.

I even left you my skin,

thin as these pages, and

took only my inheritance in a ribbed chest full of sea glass

(before it met the sea).

In the nighttime I filled my lungs 

with saltwater and brine,

wore memories 

heavy in my pockets.

I am fine when I wake up because the moon is too bright

(and if you ignore the way the ocean follows its pull behind my eyes).

I lost my mind to the moon.

I lost myself to you.