Dreams Interrogate the Day

7214024-3x2-940x627

 

Questions

which remain unanswered,

as if on a student exam,

befuddle me. I wonder

the possibilities: lack of time,

lack of knowledge, lack of trust.

Some stay silent, although known,

because the question

was never asked—or

never formed

clearly enough to be able

to be asked. Or I feared

the answers might be

the ones I desired.

 

(August 19, 2018)

Dream Journal #34: He Promised No Promises

2603b0d1adc47c5be04aa7dafaa63114 

You were a dream, as was she,

but neither of you were the dream.

She kept shifting from dark to light.

Both of you were, simultaneously

light and dark, entwined like lovers

tangled in a kiss. He watched, intrigued

and somewhat guilty, as if a voyeur

peering through bedroom blinds.

The dream kept returning to you

and her together, but not together;

separate in your costumes and colors:

red and black lace against warm skin;

a part of the ambient background

reasserting itself again into day.

He woke often, then returned to you,

in the dream, with her. The dream

turned the morning back into itself,

until where each of them left off vanished,

like promises which were never made.

 

(May 7, 2018)

Dream Journal #33: Projections

 

images

She infused your words with hers

as you did not say what she intended.

The words in the letter in the dream

swirled and slipped across the page.

You began to read like a film voiceover,

then her voice became stronger erasing

your words as she spoke your confession.

You knew she knew you knew she wrote

to you she thought; but was unsure

the letter, your letter, her words said

as much. If only she did not know

the letter, as her desire, was a dream;

and no amount of bland exposition

could explain away her obsessions.

 

(May 2, 2018)

Empty Bowl

Empty Bowls Graphic

 

In almost a religious ritual,

he castigates his niggling doubts

in a timid formality of failure.

Even now, as he folds his thoughts

neatly into another inaction,

a new desire falls softly to regret

like crumbs from a banquet table

scatter slowly across the floor.

 

Doubt and regret feed each other

a fetid feast lavished with fear.

He imagines a different world

free from this hunger, where he moves

forthrightly without pity, instead

of staring blankly at an empty bowl.

 

(March 14, 2018)

Transient Stability

b2b59b9c0be3d1839d2150cde6513a71

 

Some nights—too often now—I wake

Shouting, flailing from worry

Of someone lurking behind a fence—

Someone who claims to be no one

Who, when I wake to darkness again,

Is correct, if not mistaken—

I cannot find solace in sleep.

 

On the margins of the night, she sits

And knits in a rocking chair singing,

Weaving stories into the air. She’s not

Singing for me. Yet, I cannot speak

In dreams anymore. Night bruises

The day until my skin is broken

And blood spills as if in sacrifice.

 

(December 31, 2017)