Only Found in Dreams
Hal Y. Zhang
We return to the swamp quietly thus
to find our bug-eyed child-selves in thrall:
impossible fruiting tigers,
eidolon deaths and adamantine apocalypse.
We were all this young once, nodding along to every miracle, every horror,
until we walked too far
down the graveled road, feet stripped and raw. And
there is a comfort in crawling back in the cage and swallowing away the invisible key,
for the phantasmagoria here
cannot hurt us like our waking days.
Hal Y. Zhang is a physicist by day, and her poems have previously appeared or will appear in Strange Horizons, ellipsis..., Argot Magazine, and Lockjaw Magazine.