Shelter

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His breathing changes, and she knows
he's back inside the paper mill
pushing his tool chest though
a maze with no doors, air
burning his lungs. She reaches

but he's already fallen, he's in the cauldron
just before they turn the beaters on.

She doesn't dream the cannery
or Toby's Bar and Grill.
She's intruding. She's in someone else's house.
A wall of books. Dark wood, crystal light.
The owner's coming.

Tomorrow they will open the blind
to the horizon, light their small hearth fire.
They'll talk: say luck,
say love. The dog will bark
at nothing. Bean soup on the stove.