Zaragosa in July and I could see La Seo Cathedral through our window and our room was cheap and there was no fan and I dreamed two dreams that night concerning a country of lights and I wished to interpret them : and could not : and I spoke my dreams and bodied them : and one was you : and one was a reflection of you : and I was confounded and couldn’t tell which had been multiplied : and the light in both was the same : and the hair and the legs and the lips : all the same : and on the cheek of the first was the dominion of trees : shade figs and pomegranate : oak and oil trees : and in her eye it was shown to me a fruit the color of a blueberry but longer like an ear of corn and it was hanging from a broad leafed tree : and at the top of the fruit was a garnet flower and it had a crown of yellow pistils with bells of Tyrian purple : and every leaf serrated : : and the first dream spoke and said : climb the slope of the volcano : taste it : it’s real : and on the cheek of the second was the dominion of horses : in her right eye was a yoked team on a street in Zaragosa both with thrown shoes : a sorrel and a gray and they were splay footed and pulling a blue wagon past the gateway to the Basilica del Pilar : and the leather of their blinders was rotted : and in her left eye was a hobbled bay under the tame trees of the cemetery Torrero with long feet and close to death : and the second dream I dreamed of this country of lights looked like you with a tired face : and she had one red wing and she spoke : and her voice was city noise through a hotel window on the fourth floor when you leave it open all night because it’s too hot to sleep and there’s no air conditioning and she spoke and said to me : dejame dormir : let me sleep : : and she raised her hand and unzipped the flesh of my chest with her finger and I saw there the moon and a fence of clouds : and I saw there two rows of amber lights inside me lining a road of white buildings with no doors : and the road and the lights stretched back forever and bent with the curve of the world : and the road disappeared inside me


Cutter Streeby has an MFA in Poetry from the University of East Anglia in England and a Master’s in Literature from King’s College London. He has been published in World Literature Today, Cincinnati Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and Modern Poetry in Translation.

Photo by David Abian ( via Wikimedia Commons.