(no subject)
Treasures await
in my island of dream,
I cup them in hands that
will not hold water,
only solid and real
do not slip away
far from this sliver of second
preserved, etched, framed
so I can look at it and not
remember
the salt I swallow in each gulp
of air the wind pushes into
the lungs, next to a pulsing
heart, skips a beat on the
first crunch of pine grave,
green-gray taste to the air
even inside, smoke and wood
of fireplace fume, the kitchen brew
and cigarettes, smoke rings I
chased with fingers connected
to an embraced affection--
seashells and snails
sea urchins and starfish
sea glass and seals
All of this--
bearing, thinking, remembering
--the memory is impossible
I have trouble falling asleep
without rhythmic crash of
waves to make time real.
The ceiling, the window, the pillow
do not provide a reminder
to wake up another day.
How am I to dream if I
cannot leave?
in my island of dream,
I cup them in hands that
will not hold water,
only solid and real
do not slip away
far from this sliver of second
preserved, etched, framed
so I can look at it and not
remember
the salt I swallow in each gulp
of air the wind pushes into
the lungs, next to a pulsing
heart, skips a beat on the
first crunch of pine grave,
green-gray taste to the air
even inside, smoke and wood
of fireplace fume, the kitchen brew
and cigarettes, smoke rings I
chased with fingers connected
to an embraced affection--
seashells and snails
sea urchins and starfish
sea glass and seals
All of this--
bearing, thinking, remembering
--the memory is impossible
I have trouble falling asleep
without rhythmic crash of
waves to make time real.
The ceiling, the window, the pillow
do not provide a reminder
to wake up another day.
How am I to dream if I
cannot leave?