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  • When I left the place of childhood for college, I had a lovely bonfire dream. The entire house, the yard, a huge inferno. I woke up comforted, with an addiction to post-apocalyptic fiction.
    When the reality of marriage first set in, I remember I dreamed of two separate shacks, cold in winter, hot in summer, leaky and rickety. Unstable foundations. Later there was a treehouse, with winding, sloped corridors so we’d barely catch glimpses of each other. The walls were glass but there were no people to see, nothing but woods.
    I went to see my lover yesterday. It was achingly good, as always. I knew it was goodbye, though, so I dared to conjure my husband’s dear face. Last night the dream was a solid home, with treasures on the furniture. We each had our areas of comfort but we visited with each other. Only in the basement, somewhere, there were horrible underwater snakes and ticks. Ticks were everywhere outside of the house. Waiting to latch on.
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