This one was written by me. I had the great fortune to be accepted into a small workshop with the incredible Rosebud Ben-Oni. This was one of mine to come out of it.
The Night I Died
You told me many times that
you will not die in your dreams.
A handed promise, given out—
by whom I am still unsure.
You will not die in your dreams,
I remember so many voices
offering those words
spitting out of mouths
Even a friend told me
of his own close call:
He was falling
dripping from a stake
a faceless ghost
and a gun,
and before there was nothingness
such sweet relief
broken into sheets
as teeth triturated death.
But I have died in my dreams, once.
There was no escape for me
only a bed soaked in grief,
a solid immovable end with only
that slipped into my wakefulness
and walked with me back into life.
the thinking within my dream
—is this what they call lucid dreaming? —
I am both of me: the one who is dead,
and the one who is witness.
What happens is this,
And when it happens I stand there.
I stand above my empty body,