He lies
in the gloom and wastes
and waits for it.
He is tired.
He dreams
about the time before.
In the dark
the moon clings to clouds and
the dogs sing
to the unburdened air.
In the dream he lifts his son
to the sky
settles him on a red horse,
offers it a sweet.
He wakes --
the vision of his baby
laughing,
tangled in the mane
of a wild thing,
blood
spit
tears.
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