Walked in and the wind
was calm. The names of things
though clattered round the head,
occipital fairytales trying
for frontal rationality.
Fat chance. It’s mostly dream
anyway, the thick dream
called the dictionary. As if.
As if words were things
and were there, here,
to be with us and comfort us
as we limp down the mountainside,
who am I fooling, the meek
hillock of the day to day.

2.
The shadows under big trees
are richer and deeper than wine
must be for those who drink
but do not chalice it. The dark
is sumptuous, full of subtle,
touches and departures,
bright eyes suddenly seen
seeing me I thought I saw.

3.
Wouldn’t it be useful if
you could look back suddenly
over your shoulder and see
what you’d been thinking just
a few moments back? As if
the thinking left a trace out
there in matter world, sidewalks
and shadows, crowds of people
you thought you had forgotten?

4.
Let us suppose, the pompous magus
declared, that the world right now,
this very instant is the sum
total of what every human in it
thought ten seconds back.
And not just humans. I declined
his supposition, slept on,
a causeless victim of someone else’s dream.

5.
That’s a gloomy way of putting it,
sun in Libra and cold nights.
In my dream an inch of snow
lay on the porch, wake up!
is the solution. But there is
no problem. Or none out there,
but much further away. Why
does power make those who wield it
hate and hurt the ones they rule?
Send me your answer by Capricorn
when the fang of weather really bites.

6.
Remember the rosary
a prayer on each bead
and no reason to stop,
round and around.
A year is like that, any
day can be a pause for breath
or take a rest. Or say
a different prayer.

22 September 2020