2014, Week 1: Synchronicity

Most nights I dream I
am digging a hole
as wide and deep
as a coffin. The walls
of the tomb smell like food;
naan bread, crab cakes,
worcestershire sauce.
I lie down and take
a deep breath.

But the other night
an invisible shaman
spoke in my ear.
I dreamed he taught me
how to heal the hairline
fractures splitting
people’s hearts, but
all I wanted to know
was how to heal my own.

I heard his tongue
cluck, cluck, like
a ruffled rooster
shaking out silken,
loose plumes.
He cackled
and told me that
more than half
of any wound is
healed by healing.

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