Thursday

dream of the doors closing, metal sliding toward itself, reluctant mouth. now that it’s out, the nausea recedes. the mouth unkilns, was never fire, only at the ready. this softness, a counted blessing. things joining said to be marrying, but no wedding here, no, not everything open is a mouth. a trick of the gerund, the passive, lay it down. the dream I inherited: the last day of class, a final exam, where was I the whole time? last night: how did I miss a whole course on humor and wit in poetry? where is the room, the door? and in the dream I wake from the dream to think, this was my mother’s.