I can no longer remember and
left behind a luminescent orb.
The glazed globe still glows
somewhere in the tendrils
of my mind like the shine from
a flickering lighthouse. Twinkle,
twinkle, the pulsing flash lulls me
to sleep. I can no longer close my eyes
Fueled by dreams, the orb
gains lumens, almost catches fire, forces me
to open my eyes mid-dream.
I wonder if it’s a symbiotic curse. My body
is useless in finding the globe—real hands
could never pick it up
and lucidity is no help. The orb is always
worlds ahead of me,
a nightmare implanted.
The light, I fear, is a beacon
calling the duende home.
Tamara L. Panici is constantly scribbling on scraps of paper. When she is not reading or writing, she can be found eating bizarre foods or lifting heavy weights. She has work forthcoming in Fjords Review, Flash Fiction Magazine, and Abyss & Apex.