The Second Kind
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

It’s morning.
Only adjectives
float through the sky.
We’ve woken
from Ascension Island,
and the stretching
moments of the morning
are collecting, like
strings of nucleotides.
We’ve dreamt
our way through
gill clefts
that gave way
to buds of wings
and reptile hands,
to vestigial tails,
to fingers and spines,
to our day bodies,
ready for a second kind
of dreaming.