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What does it mean, I say. She says, it means

to be quiet, just by yourself. She says, there’s

a treasure chest inside. You get to dig it out.

Somehow, it’s spring. Says, will it always

rain? In some countries, I say, they are

praying for rain. She asks, why do birds sing?

In the dream, my notebook dipped in water,

all the writing lost. Says, read the story again.

But which one? That which diverts the mind

is poetry. Says, you know those planes

that hit those buildings? Asks, why do birds sing?

When the storm ends, she stops, holds her hands

together, closes her eyes. What are you doing?

I’m praying for the dead worms. Says, listen: