Two fragments transcribed from a dream

You chose me
Because I was beautiful
You said you smelled me
A mile away
Purple and red you opened
I lapped up on your beach
Foam on a blue wave

***

You died while making quesadillas
You had just turned off the flame
The heat of the pan doing its work
The cheese melting
The tortilla crisping
You dead
What you were in the middle of
The flame off
Heat in the pan working
What you were in the middle of
You lost
You found
Now in the heat of the work

                -- New York, July 9, 2017

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