If you dream of light

breathing

at the back of your neck,

the mad yap of pups

and hallelujahs

waking up,

it’s only

dogs you think,

but you know it’s not.

You took it home, a face found

in the woods. You hear

your name howled

from the sky—

from white mountains of clouds.

You married it—what you fear.

You’re out there alone, crossing a bad trestle.