How It Was And Who We Were

When I did not know that you were sleeping
I imagined you breathing shallow dragon dust
Outside on the door.
Knock, I've told you,
Knock,
I'll let you in.

Here the gates are wrought of iron and
If we built this story a few centuries ago
The Dragon would have melted it And you would have walked over the hot, steaming, mess, triumphant.
You would have walked across two cities, ridden horseback
And they scars and welts that the journey gave you
Would be implied.
That would be your greatness, that is how our story would end.

Here, the gates are wrought of plastic curtains
And you need to blow to make them move,
You don't have to rap your fingers
Against the shadow dance it creates on the floor
But you are the dragon anyway.
You want to some things to catch fire
Anyway.

The hot steaming mess is implied
The scars and welts on your calves and thighs
And ring fingers are for me to find
But when I open you up against the desk
And attempt to find meaning in your
Sweet savage lines,
These are the parts I will bracket off
And mark in neat letters
'f-o-r-e-s-h-a-d-o-w-i-n-g'.

It will never matter how we lived
And how inwardly our dungeons are placed
Or that we do not need fences in this city
When it will be remembered,
The polite knocks will be written over
In a hot, steaming mess.