I dreamed of filling notebooks,

the same old tear-stained lines,

spiral bound and self-evident,

are these memories, unkind;

I dreamed of emptied oceans,

stripped to sand by Father Time,

doomed and underestimated,

are the pages left, unsigned;

I dreamed of darkened places,

with my fate not far behind,

the rotten, hollow carcass,

with a face the same as mine;

I dreamed of scrapping metal,

from machinery left behind,

and bleeding as I cut away,

each bolt to my bloodline;

I dreamed I found a serpent,

with spiders for its eyes,

and a carapace of razors,

closing in from every side;

I dreamed of Live Oak forests,

throttled by smoke and brine,

I opened my eyes this morning,

to the same old tear-stained lines.