Tell me about the dream where we pull our bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothing again. How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses. Its not like a tree where the roots have to end somehwere, its more like a song on a radio, how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces. Look at the light through the window pane. That means its noon, that means were inconsolable. Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me how we'll never get used to it.