Thursday, June 09, 2011

The opening dream

I keep having this dream.
No wait, that's not right. I keep thinking about this dream I had once.
I don't have recurring dreams. Never have.
But this dream, I wish I could have it every night. It is lovely. It gives me a soft feeling on the back of my neck, like someone reading my palm or getting a haircut from an attentive barber.
I'm riding in a parade float, as far as I can tell. There's confetti-like stuff coming down, a ticker tape parade.
And all my friends are along the parade route, and they're smiling, laughing, waving at me in slow motion. It's clearly springtime.
I don't know why they're so glad to see me or why I'm in a parade, but it's clear they love me, which doesn't seem unreasonable either in the context of the dream, nor in its analysis. I think my friends do love me.
But I think there's a reason, within the dream, that I'm in the parade, on a float, and the subject of such strong emotion.
But just as I thought I was about to understand that reason, the dream ended.
I don't even think I woke up. The dream ended like the first reel of a movie shown in elementary school on the projector. But instead of the next reel starting up, the collector reel just spins, whipping the tail end of the tape against metal — flack … flack … flack … flack — while a square whitish light meditates, blank on the screen.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

For what and for whom

Rain for the garden
Rain for the river
Running for the heart and lungs
Running for the eyes and mind
Fireflies for the night
Fireflies for the moon.

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Thursday, April 15, 2010

River at lunchtime

At lunchtime, people drive down to the river.
Trucks from the phone company, shiny Jeeps, dirty cars
face the slowly moving Susquehanna
and a soft green reflection of warmth.

The watchers pull sandwiches and apples from brown bags;
burgers and fries from white sacks; hoagies from plastic tubes
and chew while they watch a breeze make lines on the water.

Today, comes into view, a man on a homemade raft, a long barge.
His pant legs are rolled up and his neck is tan.
He had an old fence and other materials to make the raft,
and he knew where there was a river.

And so, he will float and pole until he comes to a dam.
And the lunchers will watch and daydream,
imagining they are him
until it is time
to go back to work.

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