I dreamed last night about
your empty, gaping eye. The other
one made of glass.

You lifted a veil for me, showed
me a patch. It’s empty like your mouth
even though the effect is one of constant
refilling. A ship sinking slowly as workers
dip water out in the smallest cups.

You, lady, want to rush off to the grave,
but the more I get to know you, the more I think,
set some things first so you know which side
of that dug-up earth you will land on.

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. He has two poetry projects available at Origami Poetry. Read other articles by JD.