The cottage is full of soft warmth.
Summertime is seeping in.
You step out and turn to me,
Standing expectant in the hot sunshine,
Surrounded by bright dust motes and chickens,
Tulips by the gate.
My hands linger on the door frame
The grain familiar and worn under my fingertips.
I smile and push off and out
Towards you and the sun.
But my feet meet no ground.
The chickens and their yard dissolve.
You are frozen in the memory of the previous instant
And I fall.
***
A dream. Last night.
One of the falling ones
When your body believes in the shock.
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