All night my mother speaks to me in my dream. She remembers my name. I tremble with a light that only a few fortunate people get to experience. She has nowhere to go. Time is a shelled snail trailing the inseams of the night. The moon casts his silver net on the sleeping rabbits. The birds watch the stars with hooded lids. I drink the sweet from her hands like an old cat. I do it with my eyes closed. I am careful. Outside of my vision is another dream. There, my eyes are open. There, my mother does not love me.