In the night, he thought.
In the night.

In the night while she’s sleeping,
In the night when she’s dreaming,
She dreams.
Dreams I’ll turn to spoil.
Dreams I’ll turn to rot.
And later, much later, though not
Later than the next moon,
She will not forget,
She will not forget,
She will forget me not -
The night I sought to grab.
And I grabbed.
And I grabbed.

Grabbed but rose, startled,
When she stopped
Sleeping
She was until, again,
Her dreams, I turned, stopped.
And instead, she screamed.
Instead, she stumbled,
Knocked a shelf to stop my grabbing,
Stop my babbling,
“Calm down,”
And when we’re heard,
“She’s dreaming, she’s dreaming,”
A dream turned rot.
A dreamed, I turned, rot.

No one will believe you - I do not say
But only to the others,
The ones who heard but did not see
So, therefore, did not
See
I say,
“I came to help, I came to help,
And then she knocked upon the shelf.”

The bookshelf.
She likes books,
Now spilled.
Now she spilled them and herself.
“Get her mother,
This girl needs help.”

“My uncle, my friend,
My dearly trusted close one,
My mother’s brother
My grandmother’s son
My family, now done!
How could you?
How do you?
How would you
And why?”
She says with a cry.

“I once had,
I did have,
I did cherish,
Though without knowing it,
A life without the dream
I wish was a dream
But so obviously not!
No, a memory.
A memory so foul, so foul
Turned to rot.
And you! You were there!
You caused that great crash,
Pushed me back
Into the shelf, and yelled,
“This girl needs help!”

“You fool, you utter disgrace!
Now daring to say
It is my own face
That lies.
Lies!
Lays in the bed
Next to the man
Without knowing it,
Without knowing it,
So deeply penetrated
And Now
Sowing it back together,
Though hardly at all,
And how could I,
When brought with a fall
To the stone floor
Next to my grandmother’s wall
Where a portrait was held
Of her Fine Children.
But one son, A Deviled Son,
A child of hell.”

“That is you,” she says
“That is you.
And let it be known
I will forever remember
The very black night
You pushed me down,
Scattered the shelf, yelled,
“This girl needs help,”
After grabbing,
And grabbing,
And whispered in my ear,
“You will forget me not,
Your dreams, I’ve turned to rot.”