My life asleep

River dreams. Warm and muddy, green vines breaking the surface with fine white flowers. My raft was made of logs overlaid with an old queen mattress. I entered the current too far to the right, my brother in his (actual) boat looked on laughing as my strange tall bed shot over small falls. I clung to the cords that held mattress to logs. I shot into the wider current and settled into a calm slightly rocking glide. Among the lily pads, white crocodiles swam and sunned themselves, paying me no mind.

Later I traveled beneath the city through caves humid, torch-lit. We danced.