In the dream, the video tape of us plays
the day we walked the botanical gardens.
I’m twenty. There are lions—
I watch the woman in a night gown
dismount your body. On a mission,
she says, to quiet you. I know
what comes next—your hand
raised. She takes a lion.
It feels like a fight from afar.
It’s not—Addiction, yes. Anger, yes.
You keep turning. What I want:
a sacrifice. Not what keeps
resurrecting— the other
half dead, resurfacing.