Dream 1 (Fake)
Émilie Kneifel

to come back with a crown

made from something collected

(bright trampled leaves from the ginkgo?)

so you might

wonder about that day’s blare

its bleating insistence

its smearing your hair like the breath

of a person, pouring gold

in your mouth, its

shrieking in yellows so you might

stop, try to interpret

seagulls’ fresh disbeliefs

their floating, dark dust motes

somewhere beyond flight.

to come back crowned

like lost time is royal

to bask in the day of you

to bruise at the knees.

to come back, head all aflame

so you might

watch the sun drown

all petal and heat.

Dream 2 (Real)
Émilie Kneifel

this dream wriggled back

when my marigold cousin

held our baby-sweet

dog upside down

in his arms:

his beast-yellow

teeth and

yellow neck ribbon

shuffled my

yellow creased bib.

in yellow pool light

a ripple of dandelion.

a river of tender steak


she wanted to take us

strike time with her phone

but she kept fishing

for capsules and



by the time she was


the yellow was


thru netting

i howled

after day’s

whittled paint.

Émilie Kneifel wafts in Montreal, pickling loose teeth. If everyone is a critic, then Émilie is everyone at Adroit, Prism International, Exclaim!, and Bearded Magazine.