THE BLESSINGS OF DREAMS

(in memory, B.)

 

 

That man is fortunate, who, in the hour before falling

into unsouled sleep

is able to get up, wind his watch and brush his teeth, dress,

put on the shoes his wife had stuffed with tissue

so they’d look new when she gives them away –

 

lucky is that man, who, astonished, folds the sheets, plumps

the pillow on which his head

made an impression, who doesn’t bother to tell his wife

because he has so much to do

now that he’s been spared, O, and the day! – beautiful, bright,

picture perfect, only someone’s calling –

 

why not ignore what’s mind-play, delusion – only someone’s

calling                                                                                   

in a voice that’s clear, insistent, he’s remembering a fall

of days that never came to, arriving as they did

without the agency of a moon, mornings dark as nights

so he wouldn’t move,

he’d miss breakfast, be late for school –

 

all he ever wanted in the world was to stay home, in bed,

where the cold couldn’t touch him –

 

it wasn’t for him to decide though, or choose,

no more than the dream in which, unthinking, he quits the room.

 

 

—Originally appeared in Rattle (Winter, 2004 issue, Volume 10, Number 2).