They’ve been setting off fireworks
all week in my neighborhood. I wake
with a start from dreams like the grainy
footage of far off wars, people shooting,
being shot. It’s something less and more,
something easier to recover from, something
less violent. Today, the brown, dry grass
outside her office caught on fire, and she called
to tell me about it and guess at the causes.
“Last night, I dreamed of wars, and woke
to sparkle showers,” I answered. She thought
that was a good probable cause.