the path of dream turns from red
to midnight blue, a slim fragment
of an unknown end.  trees block the sun,
but bars of light travel at our feet,
as if urging us on

and we know we are dreaming but not
how long we have been asleep. memories
capture you in a languid net and deliver
you back into that dull ache

but if you reach out and feel the light,
you can decode its secret message
and it will tell you--paths always lead
out of the forest eventually
and if we walk on, there will be a return

to a time when desire was full
with its own restraint. your fingers
will choose to submit
to my deliberate stroking,
and you will laugh
at your semblance of passivity.

nothing can protect you now, not even fear