in the dreams

In the dreams 
in color but colorless,
post-apocalyptic, the world stretches out
with ash and charred hulks of trees.
I am alone.
Beside me, the world has cracked
like an egg, jagged and stretching over the horizon,
only a foot wide,
but an abyss.
There is a whisper of steam coming from it,
and a whisper of something churning below.
That is the only sound except for a bird calling,
maybe for a mate.
I need to get to the other side,
but I am terrified.
I can step across easily,
only a foot wide,
but I remember a time I tried to jump
a puddle in tight jeans.
My leg would go no farther
than my knees
and I landed in the water in new shoes.
What if I can’t reach across?
The dream won’t leave.
I think of it whenever my mind is alone.