We Had a Dream

Or, more properly, we are a dream.

We bounced you to the neighbor's house many times in the dream, and each time the neighbor had more teeth and fewer mattresses on his floor until finally his stained undershirt had been transformed into a tailored dress shirt and he had something to say about all the landscaping you'd forsaken.

Then we bounced you to the pond between your house and the neighbor's house, and each time you could see less and less of the boards on your raft as it banged against rocks jutting out of the water, until you could finally see the steel rod framework and understand that it was more likely to sink than get you anywhere.

And then you realized that the raft's remaining boards weren't wooden at all but rather large citrine crystals at its front, sure to pull it down through the water once you could free it from the rocks where it was wedged. Then you realized, with the sun shining brightly on her, who you were trying to bury on this raft, and you let her go.

Then you slide out of sleep to ponder through the kitchen window her good wild friend, a bright red male chirping to you purposely to look look look and understand. Then you see that we brought you that dead bird because you needed one. It lies rotting on the property, covered with leaves and grass, until you choose or do not choose to bury it in place of the raven alongside her many former colleagues.