The logic of dreams

 
is the logic of luck that everyone 
insists isn't (though it is) the same as

a message sent by angels. The paper plane 
flies in a dream fueled by fireflies, looking

for shadows of wings beneath the lake's 
glass surface; and when it finds them, 

it folds itself into a bud. We sink into that 
lake many times throughout the day, hiding 

from the heat of the sun or torrents of rain. 
How can we not believe it exists? Spines 

of trees curve toward their reflections
and are rewarded with increase. In this dream,

water is more than a tomb: more than need or
the history of all longings unmet under the moon.