Samuel Minier:

Writing in the Dark

Once I came to know it was all a dream,

I imagined myself an old-time explorer –

pith helmet stained and wire-rim glasses

whipped by wild humid fronds chopped aside with

adventurous determination by the machete I visioned

into my hand. I conquered a hundred jungle miles

on foot, because I willed it,

until I came upon the temple and decided to

become it. Squat yet towering, vines over me

like lovers, every crack and crevice my fingerprint,

great stone passageways my innards,

inner sanctums, secrets, me standing a

thousand years in mysterious solitude

until the explorer came,

and now I am the clack of his footsteps upon

the temple’s cold floors – point of contact between

man and monument, past and presence, their

touch to each other rippling me through

air, mineral and molecule so that I may

vaguely seep a million miles into space,

or drain into the bowels of ground,

where I wait, stirring in response to the

approach of the tiny creature, his face so lined with

terror as he peers down the great well to find

my vast shifting form, my teeth clicking

in freshly-awakened awareness and hunger

after eons of slumber, stretching forth myriad

pincers to pluck him screaming from the edge –

Then I awoke, opened my eyes

opened my doors

opened my echoes

opened my mouths

and we came to know there was no such thing as dreams.