This is "Black Lavender Milk."
Do you want to remember your dreams?
Pour a glass of water at night.
Drink half the glass before bed, and remember
to drink the other half upon waking.
The moment our deep star touches your skin
and kindles you to flame you are a Magus,
you are a form of water, you are a lot of language,
you are blood and salt. Pour the glass of water from the sunset,
from the faucet.
From your dream breath, put a palm full of water to your lips
and try to remember why we sleep, why we dream.
That we may pass through a portal without shape
and awaken elsewhere older, here now.
Go to bed before you read this book, carry it with you
and do not read it, you are sure to remember if you follow this.
Gather your sleep, strung together with water,
cupped by tongue sounds.
Say it with me now, "How will I know
to meet you when I arrive?"
Sigh a breath to your left, and make
sure you've kept a pocket of stones and sand.
The sound of ocean water weighs gravity
when marked upon the body, doubling seasons.
Stretch time to fit what you remember.
Meet me in the orchard or airport.