I dreamt you were eating dirt
I dreamt you were eating dirt.
But it was all right.
It had been refrigerated in earth.
My body is ten billion years old.
You were watering me with this old rain
which made us new.
Then we watched.
I am sitting on a bench in the meadow.
You are sitting in a boat on the sea.
In and out. We are the same.
Grass greens. Sea grass. Olives. Garlic.
You are weaving with your fingers.
The smell of rosemary
is not to be confused
with the sound of crows.
If I had died yesterday
would I still have dreamt last night
that you were eating dirt?
Crumbled with the stars.
Salt on your tongue. It’s my fault.
The memory of the word “snow” made me cry.
Was that Wendell Berry just now?
by his hands and his horse.
I dreamt that you were eating dirt.
Your mouth was a misty valley,
your teeth fences,
your tongue the sandy bed of the sea.
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