The rain dazzles me half-unconscious 
and I dream fevered of haunted things:
the blue Connecticut woods, my body 
rolling under a gap in a barbed wire fence,
catapulting hellbent through a thin river 
in the dead of iced spring, running fire
up the bank, a wolf nipping my heels,
kicking her downward as we both fought
teeth and scream and spit, skin to skin,
until I fell back into the frost and she stood
above my head with her hands on her hips,
and the cops yelled in the blue distance,
cut off by the arms of barbed wild roses,
as ticks crawled a halo around my head,
while the trees swam spirals above me,
and the light cracked open my cold veins.
When my eyes unsheath like daggers
aimed at my bedroom ceiling, I wish
it was all a dream. I wish it was all a dream.