Carlie Hoffman

In my dream the dead have arrived
as escorts. We travel

past cold hills and wolves
wild in a deadlocked field. A corporation

of stars cracks overhead. I lean
my hand where the hunting dogs

chase the rabbit, and they tell me
constellation means assembled

for life. Then they lend me
a shovel and dissolve into night.

There is no other way back. I dig
through snow until the cold metal strikes.