(reprinted by permission of Louisiana
State University Press)
And what good is a dream finally? It breaks your head
and cello music pours out of a stranger's window and the most
gorgeous woman you ever loved says to hit the road and you do
see themthat stranger and this woman. Kissing everywhere.
In the trees. On boats. In the kitchen cupboards.
of daily life never lifts and the checkbook needs proper
calculations and the dog would like supper please and now
without warning the dream returns. It breaks your head open.
You lie there for a week and no one finds you until
having lost its dignity finally eats and when there is no more
howls. It howls. And you are a missing person, a passage
of shit quivered into the dirt. A good boy. A terrible dream
someone picks up with a plastic bag wrapped in his
to throw away and you are thrown away. You do it every day.
Walking too early, driving to work, working and returning.
Reading poems of great beauty and crying at the movies.
Touching the hair of your niece who laughs at water.
over cornfields so close and so openly that when you wake
there is silk in your beard. Your arms are tired and hang
at your sides like the wings of a migratory bird who is about
to die. And what good is a dream finally? It breaks
and you stand in the lush dark of the moment after twilight
ends and begin to sing and nothing makes sense to you
and you sing louder for a while, then awkwardly sit down
where you are. And the stars overhead shine a littleno
or less than usualand whether it is daylight and they are invisible
or whether it is night and they are the embers of a blacksmith's
fire, they shine and you are grateful. That love is like a hammer.
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