Another Dream

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We were travelling across the top

of a reflective glacier.

We were going to a cathedral.

Your voice resonated like a violin

and cupped my ears like warm palms,

which, ironically, makes it hard to hear.

We were going to be late and

ghosts can get frostbitten and

Chicago was frozen beneath us.

I tried to elevate

my voice, the thrust

of which broke the mirror underneath

and we fell with renewed distance.