Aubade
1 Minute Read Time

Sometimes you wake me from my dream
with a low, trembling moan
that rises almost to a scream
before I wake you from your own.
Then you describe it in detail,
as if to make it come untrue—
the smoke or silence or betrayal
that just occurred to you.
This morning, though, you didn’t seem
to want to recollect
even the contours of your dream,
which was a kindness, I suspect.
Read more from Issue 15.1.
