The other night I had this dream
by Anthony Parker
where you were crying diamonds—
perfectly shaped as though someone
just thought them up. You held them
as they were born, pressed against
your face. They bled between your fingers—
down your arms, your breasts—a few
collected in your hair. You started to laugh,
holding them out to me. Look.
In another dream, the stars unhooked
themselves from their fixed points in the zodiac
and swirled around you, moved in your orbit—
satellites. I dream you in strange ways, wake
up with the taste of your name in my mouth.