Once I’ve driven those day
dreams of a dead man
(almost my lover) off the dirt
road, I lay down
on cool stone
to sleep. And dream of you,

a living man
(never my lover). I don’t control
stories that get told
while I sleep. Lyric
never narrative. A complicated card
game I couldn’t play,

I give up and walk down bent
corridors with you
looking back
at me. Is it still there—
that precious
metal band? I can’t see

your left hand.
Into the labyrinth—
a kiss. I wake
to imprint this sweet
consolation prize
on the day.