I know I’m in trouble when I start dreaming of a man harvesting
ovaries with a melon baller, the women just sitting at the table,
waiting their turn. I wake, seeing I’m in for it in the real world,
maybe already in the middle of it. I haven’t been drinking
or eating those Thai noodles with the spicy peanut sauce I love.
I’ve been good, but the dreams are not and I begin to wonder why
the constant nightly state is always yellow, never green, sometimes,
like now, riding the line between orange and red.
I read the air quality alert and learn: Concentrations of particulates
may approach or exceed unhealthy standards. Members of
sensitive groups may experience health effects.
I’ve always been sensitive; my mother was forever telling me so
and though I didn’t put much stock in what she said, others, later,
told me the same. Perhaps if I had stayed indoors?
There could be any number of causes; I’m not certain Othello,
who, by the way, was wrong. I know that much. Perhaps
I should stop watching all those YouTube videos past ten. I fret
and brood. I put off sleep.

Once, I dreamt I was flying over a bank of trees. The moon
hung to the right. Though it was cold I was not cold. I could have
gone on forever, a trick of elevation, effortless, never tiring.
I wished never to wake.