lay beneath the window
where the cool breath
falls in across the sill plate
through the tired metal
screen that holds the
squares of opaque rain

each crucial star a beacon

each breath a prayer
on fresh sun dried sheets

"Our souls are imperfect"
we spoke aloud reading together
as the pines gathered the brilliant
dance of dusk
the lake shivering with gusts

we bear the imperfection like
a contusion on the mould

in my dream we are skating
while the aurora burns
our breath trailing behind us