by Alan Michael ParkerThe vandals are dreaming, wolves are dreaming, The horses are staked to their deaths. In the poem of the vandals dreaming A word bites through a lip, Drawing blood. (The poem is in ruins.) The vandals dream their arms unseen, Dream themselves buried in the belly Of the birthing mare, as a foal is Torn to life. (The poem is banal As the barn is bloody.) And you and I, and you and I, we steal Each other's blankets, wrap ourselves In darkness, wind, in anything The night will let us, to feel safe. Do you feel safe? (Soft, The vandals sleep.) Because a word Is a dream of its meaning, you and I Must dream the vandals dreaming: Soft, the horses nicker in the barn. (Soft, our poem begins as vandals dream.)
