Like the twisted medieval Streets of Venice
I had a dream where I spoke to Ezra Pound
About cats as we walked near the library
Of the school where I work which was not
The school where I work for these buildings
Were from the sixteenth century with tangled
Labyrinthine halls where in various pockets
And corridors familiar students practiced yoga
Calling for us like the sirens to Odysseus to play
along but Pound kept talking in ever lengthening
tangents which bent back upon themselves as once
Gertrude Stein pithily accused him of explaining
everything I had tried to understand for years
before I awoke and it all fell into fragments
like glass glistening the light off in the distance
(July 17,2017)
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