by Loren Kleinman
Long, long, long ago the night was a lost woman. The trees were bone, and heads hit pillows between two worlds made of glass and rubber. You got tangled in thorns and vines. Gum never stuck to shoes. If you looked too long at the sky a hawk dropped you a letter from your future self. Branches were arms, and leaves were breasts. Worms drank milk, and fleas burrowed in silence. The world was as small as a pea. It might as well have disappeared.