Today I stayed in bed
until late morning
drifting in and out of sleep,
each consecutive dream
more intense than the last.
In a cafe on the moon
a man in business attire laughed
when my head
fell like a paperweight
toward my coffee.
He pointed and drew a crowd.
Embarrassed, I explained
the lack of oxygen
makes me sleepy,
that it was actually quite normal,
even on ozonic planets.
But it wasn’t until the crowd
became a school of tropical fish
breathing effortlessly
out of water,
lifting espressos with fins
to their o-shaped mouths,
that I realized it was a dream,
and walked to the balcony,
coffee water in the tea kettle,
to watch airplanes
unstick from the city,
the tarmac a black tongue
kissing them goodbye.
LOCATION: Santa Cruz, Bolivia
