I dreamt last night that I was in Spain but Spain was an
island overflowing with volcanoes. There were ways out but they were all along wooden
docks. The docks led out a million miles into the sea. We ran them until we
couldn’t run them anymore. Did you know how cold the water could be? It was
like jumping into the night sky. It felt like falling past all of those stars. They
had seemed so bright until you were inside them.
And there were people everywhere along the docks. The women
kept drowning themselves. They’d jump and then sink and then would be flung
back out. The water from their hair sending sprinkles across us all. Alive
again they’d look surprised. But eventually, they always rejumped. The surprise of taking breaths only lasts so
long I guess.
And there was a man waving to ships. He jumped up and down. He
kept yelling out names of famous doomed boats. He wanted everyone to know he’d
never sail anywhere. He wanted everyone to know that living was easiest if you
never went anywhere. Easiest or safest? I asked, but he said they were the same
thing told in different ways.
At the very end of the dock, I said I wanted to turn around,
go back. I said that volcanoes weren’t that bad. I liked the heat. The ash I
could deal with, I could find anyone just by the shape of them. You said no, you wanted to jump, even just
once, taste the cold. I asked if you knew how cold the water would be. I’d done
it once a thousand years ago. I never forgot that ice. You smiled, said
nothing, and fell backwards through the night.