I show you the diagram I’ve sketched
of the house inside my head.
I tell you I have been here
ten times at least in my dreams.
You tell me last night’s dream: riding
for what seemed like three hours
a bicycle made of balloons.
To you, it was boring.
We look at each other, aghast
at how different, how desirable
each other’s dream seems.

* poem, in its entirety, is available in the printed version of the current issue.


Louise Carson’s latest books are Dog Poems, a collection of her poetry, and A Clutter of Cats, her sixth mystery novel. She lives in Saint-Lazare, Quebec.


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