The same dream once more: running breathlessly through a forest

where the trees grow downward from the sky, I tripping over their fruits.

How to secretly tell you I do not want to be here? This is unsafe;

this snare of unfulfilled weed-like dreams mock me when you turn away. 

Each time the village-men hunt for me – some with axes, 

some with scythes – they scream peace in the name of the king. 

Have I killed you? I have to have. Perhaps the birds that walking, 

graze my feet, could recall. The soil cries through the night, one says.

I wake to desert mornings, to the sound of the cat purring. A robin 

lying sideways under the wood table. Eyes open, unable to move.

Artwork by: Sana Saeed