In some legends, the earth is supported by four elephants balancing on a turtle's back. Do they ever get the urge to flick their tails at mosquitoes, fold their legs, fall asleep in their precarious duty? And when they dream do they twitch so dangerous fissures open in the earth? I was told that dreams work by opposites— If you dream of catastrophe, a windfall instead. Or a love rekindled, a quarrel healed. If at dawn the rooster crows with orange blades, the day might be more forgiving after a night when houses shrivelled to nothing in the mouth of fire. I suspect this is one way of softening whatever the sky lobs at you the first thing in the morning, the last thing at night.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
