Dream The porch unwinds around the spool of house and slants into the yard, makes a path that we’ll name Samantha, and at the end of her there’s a room of men with slack shoulders and perched between their burly fingers, like little birds, are joints rolled tight and clear with blueberry cellulose. They’re glad we’ve come. There is dancing and spare words exchanged like parts, roles in a play, I guess, but you’ve got my lips held ransom, and the sky turns silver so we go outside for champagne. The feeling holds us down like paperweights to the earth. I grab your collar and it’s made of plastic. My arms are covered in thin gauze which you undo with your teeth. A flopping trout appears on the veranda and we do nothing. A river is running past not far away, smelling of very sweet and very milky coffee.