He sits me on the edge of the tub in the dark house
            extracts a fang of beer glass from my foot
It’s so warm the smell & hiss of peroxide is promising me
love, love                      it’s always the same in the dream
                        he is tending me, or relenting
taking hold of my paw in some public way:   alright, stop 
 
The summer I drove up the Pacific Coast Highway
            the splendor kept buckling impossibly on itself
 
Between the ocean and the poppies on the cliffside
I remember thinking: now, now is the best moment of my life—
and then I would round the bend—no, now, it’s now 
            nature kept trumping herself endlessly—
                        can I say I thought I would die of pleasure?
 
In the dream I slide like sand from a hole in a paper bag
                                    he can’t remember why he’s holding
 
In the dream? Even though I’m losing I say connect four—
                        
but he just smiles, incredulous, at the black out 
                                    around my little rebellion of red 
where
the night air slides in on rails to feel his knife in my foot