Nothing of any perceivable shape protrudes in these dreams,
and however I turn and twist, an irregular pointed rock
pivots the tangent line between my body and damp ragged surface.
Nightmares have been shattering and reforming themselves
and leave behind an unfiltered heaviness like a tree
suddenly defoliated by poisonous fog, its branches cracked like an umbrella
in a storm, the canopy blown away, bare ribs and stretchers out of joint.
I could not even fall onto the ground, with limbs nailed to broken branches,
body loosely sprawled over the forked tree crotch like a pelt
spread over its bright colored opening of a crocodile mouth.
Something thick and salty from me is dripping down, but I cannot see,
the splattering sound is slower than time.
May 13, 2008
Note: After the earthquake in Sichuan (May 12, 2008), I had bad dreams.