Your Mortality Is My Fault
One night of thunder
I dreamt a door
in my childhood room
opened on a road
through a wind-tossed wood
over a trembling bridge
across a dark stream
whose waters ran smooth
under the storm.
The road found end
in a timid land
of famined time,
where days were rationed
and everybody’s
ran out
before they were full.
I opened the door,
walked that path,
and woke up here,
under your sun.
— Thomas Gorn
October 1st, 2026
Halloween 2026, Day 1