My dreams have grown mundanely vivid. I can’t nimbly untangle their milky opacity from my waking life. Last night,
I dreamt of folding paper animals, touching corner to crease, mimicking breathing creatures: crane, cat, fish, and fox. I ordered them
on the horizon of my dresser – a patient pageant towards the ark, spaced airily, like nightgowns on a clothesline or owls in the night.
When I shuddered into morning, I woke not to a rush of cranes, but to the wind fluttering a map through my open window.
The topography covered me like a quilt. My dreams were thin, blue paper, but I could put a pin through the map and trace the interstate with thread.
James Bowie High School
12