What Happens When
You Let Go of Your Wrist 
in Dream Time


Terrie Leigh Relf

Shadows burst through darkness, the curve of orange neon tail.  I float toward brilliant fuchsia, an anemone’s maw.  So lovely the transparent swell and crest  of water. 

I am tossed into the warm pond where books and lamps seek surfaces, undaunted by the under toad who ribbits to itself from a castle rock. An albino koi  with pale pink eyes swims back and forth, back and forth. 

“Too much algae. There’s too much algae on these windows,” he says, nudging me along. But All I see is iridescence, mother-of-pearl, as I flounder about in search of my wrist, grab hold to keep from drowning. 

The koi circles back, swims  beneath to lift me onto a safer top bunk shore, says, “it’s story time, and I will tell you this. Once upon a space and time, there was a woman who was in-love with me, and I with her.  We swam through night, made love by comets and wandering stars.  She disappeared through a black hole, washed ashore in a distant galaxy.  Have you seen her?  We have a date to spawn.”

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