There is a wait and you don’t show up. 
Never appear in dreams as promised. 
There is no other side. Nothing
happens, you said, nothing.

I think of you when a crow caws, 
a voice that reminded you steadily of Robert Plant.
And I remember your zebras
because what would be the point in riding a horse through purgatory. 
The zebra looks cooler, you said and all the little girls would be jealous.

Previously published in Phantom Kangaroo