The Fox’s Dream
written by Mathias Svalina
A ghost is sleeping in the park. The ghost has a living bear’s head. We are not to wake the ghost with the living bear’s head. Me & my friends, though, we are celebrating. We are dancing. We are leaping & jumping. Someone shouts a melody. Someone sings the same melody, but different. Someone has a mandolin. Someone has a box of crickets who all sing in choiring harmonies. We don’t even care one little-ittle bit if the ghost with the living bear’s head wakes, we are having so much fun. But also, we do not wake the ghost with the living bear’s head. I open a carton of one-dozen eggs & each egg has a unique hairstyle: mohawk, caesar-cut, shag, bob, beehive, man-bun, combover, pixie, cornrows, undercut, french braid, etc. An owl flies down with a perfectly globular egg in her beak. She breaks the egg open. Coconut oil spills out. The sky is a miasma. The sky is a chaos of potential. There is no way to know where the sky ends & our bodies begin. All of love exists in the miasma & chaos of the sky, fully formed, fully loving. We must reach into the miasma & pluck the love out. It is a test. I have taken this test before, so many times, & each time I’ve fucked it up. But like with all things that do not exist as much as they just are, there is no limit to love. I reach into the miasma again, for the hundredth time maybe, & I search for the love I know is there.