I send my specter out to find me,
my other specter. I like to think I split
exactly in the middle, but what symmetry
would that be, there is no even
landmass I have traveled upon,
not in spring, honey, as you promised.
There are two of you for my two hands:
I forgive you. I am announcing how to kiss
in your first ever dream – let all the disappearing
happen at once. I am sitting inside
one of you for a while. I am sitting inside
another me. In a little thunder
I send my specter out and find me,
moon-hung, cloudy, uneven yet for traveling
a landmass, the dumbstruck dream
I have traveled in before.
Kat Dixon is the author of the poetry collection TEMPORARY YES and a forthcoming novella, HERE/OTHER. She lives in Atlanta and online at www.isthiskatdixon.com.