Amber Day

Recurring Nightmare

Moonlight on the lake,
a pile of white night gowns—
maps to an underwater stream of light. 
The flowers around the lake
grow tongues inside their petals when it rains. 
But these are the truths I must live by:
the night gowns are shadows 
that lead to nowhere, and if a moth lands 
on the water, the lake will change color.
Two wolves drink from the lake. On the water,
the wolves’ shadows are cobalt blue.  
They’re swallowing mirrors, reflections of themselves. 
I imagine the alphabet set on fire then 
doused in lake water. The only 
surviving letters form my dead lover’s name. 
If I follow the logic precisely, he will emerge 
from the lake, but near the nightmare’s end, 
I forget the final axiom. 
The moonlit water forms the body of a human 
and walks towards me. A moth lands 
on the water’s outstretched arm.

Amber Day works as a recreation specialist for people on the autism spectrum and is pursuing a Master’s Degree in Child Life to help children cope with illness and hospitalization. Amber’s poetry is forthcoming in Eratio.