From a manuscript in progress.

In the dream I wrote this poem called “Electric.”

Somehow I got the t in the middle of the title

to wiggle. All the words of the poem

were crossed out with clay-colored lines

that ran through like fences or wires.

I could only see the tops and bottoms of the letters.

When I scraped the words of the poem with a knife

like a scratch card, the text remained hidden

behind opalescent scars

which hovered and shifted, “cloudlike,”

wherever my eyes rested. I put the shavings

under a big lens, and it seemed to…