i dream in...

i dream in percussions. i dream in rosy-gold haze. i dream of the dusk. and the dawn. i dream of the freedom of open spaces. with the wind singing to me. embracing me. warm drafts bearing me up ever higher. i dream of the secrets of forests. and the mysteries of woodlands. of the stories told by rivers and springs. i dream of the laws of the moon. and the teachings of the stars. i dream of feasts with heroes. and orgies with gods. i dream in warm reds and bright golds. and fertile, lush greens. i dream in percussions. and strings. and winds. i dream of colorful vibrations. i dream of flight. and impossible heights. i dream of the magic of words. i dream. quovaqoqoramalenuvamelathataneshissimonerrazizzianameloiane

Every Maria.

He wondered if she loved him.

Really.

She was so distant. Perpetually
preoccupied.

He drifted away.

She stayed as she was. Mum. And
spare.

But in times when the
silence crashes down on her.
She would strain …

“I love you like I love my garlics,
my onions, my tomatoes, my
herbs, and spices. I love you like I
love the rough yet giving iron
skillet. I love you like I love my
gleaming copper pans. . .”

Ensconced by her stove and oven.
The kitchen she loved so much, now her own jail. And she her
own jailer.

Hoping the scent of her cooking
would call him back …

To dine.
To feast once again.