I Imagined
this dream:
You sent me a message,
impossible to translate,
so I burned it,
along with
the things you refuse
to discard -
that we climbed over,
stepped around,
tried to carve a space
of our own within -
to no avail,
and with very little
consequence.
I know that the mirror
is broken,
the ashes cold,
the paper blank,
yet I stash them
all away
in a drawer I keep
for such things.