“There’s this street, just this bridge
between these two places, places no one
really travels down, you know? And no one
knows too much about it, but I found it, Dreamland;
I wish I kept it with me, to take it somewhere
where people might know it, or recognize it,
and travel along it someday.”

The only mistake you made during all of this
was that you failed to recognize you are this bridge:
You are this Dreamland; and I would like to hold you
with me as we walked places we both desired.
But on that day, with the wind howling at our backs, jagged,
making us find shelter on the side of the hill, it was enough
merely to lie amongst the grass, the rocks we threw towards the
graveyards, our limbs growing roots—

(Roots that nestled and curled with each other in the soil,
avoiding the harsh hiss of the sun, for all eternity
whispering blunt echoes of memories)