IN DREAMS

1.

In the dream, you were lost,
As always.
I was looking for you.

I rehearsed all the scenery.
The improbable island of rock
Like a shark's fin deep in the ocean,

On which you stood,
The deep forest on whose floor
You lay

Fallen and white like a branch
Of the great tree-
It was so silent there,

And cool.
Centuries of pine needles
Muffled the snapping of twigs.

I could have been underwater.
I stopped looking for you
When I knew I was lost.

2.

I joined the others.
Everyone was looking for you.
We came upon grey angels

Peering over a stone wall
To the sarp stones beneath.
They were looking for you.

They did not look up when we came.

At the edge of the sea,
A woman with a skein of yarn
Cast the thread down again and down again,

And each time,
The thread took the shape of a face.
When the wave undid the wool,

She did not seem to grieve.
She began again.
I do not believe she saw me.

3.

Once I was lost,
I saw there were advantages to it.
In my ship,

The rowers kept to their oars
Even when I saw the white horse,
His high neck arched,

Swimming in our wake,
His golden eyes fixed onus,
His hooves beating the green water,

As he swam after us, tireles,
Even when I heard the voices in the water,
Even when I saw the faces in the water,

Astonishing, like water lilies at sea.
Whose faces were they?
That opened and closed like flowers,

Whose song rose into the air
And dyed the air violet.

And, on the sensible farm,
Deep in the sensible hills,
I saw a man leave a lady's high window

He spread his wide, bright wings,
And flocks of swallows dove at him
At twilight, the air was dark with them

And thye kept after him
Until he was far from their nests.
I looked in each nest.

Three hornets,
One ring, years ago lost,
And much mud.

I pull the curtains
When the headaches come.
Sometimes, his shadow crosses it.

He is not looking for me.
He is not looking for you.

4.

Are simple solutions always the best?
If not, why this dream of a white building,
Three storied and long,

Always fresh in its paint,
Always there,
As, at times, an animal stands guard

At the gateway to dreams.
The sky behind it is always yellow.
The river before it is smooth and grey.

The three men in the boat
Wave their rods at me.
Their white coats are spotless.

The bells do not chime.
They strike the hour heavily.
At night,

The men set up a white tent in the woods
And drink their gold beer.
Their spotted dog yawns.

There is a dark shadow behind them,
As if they had tried
To tunnel right through the earth.

Are they helping you escape?
Are they keeping you in?
In front of the building,

The gymnasts in their white suits
Do cartwheels and headstands.
It is boring,

Like long summers of hot afternoons
With nothing to do.
The crescent moon,

Mouth of the night,
Slips to one side,
Grins crazily.

Heat wilts the leaves.

5.

Two women in a grey stone tomb
Are telling each other secrets.
One lies on a bench of cold stone,

The other sits up
Leans over her,
But watches the door.

Has the stone been rolled into place?
They are not sure.
It is getting harder to breathe.

6.

This morning,
The mouth of the cave was filled with light,
And you stood in it

And held your arms out wide.
Blurry with sleep,
I came toward you.

My fists rubbing my eyes clear of mist,
I came toward you.
I stood in the mouth of the cave,

And below, in the valley,
I saw you,
Multiplied into a crowd.

So much, after such famine!
Then I heard the words of their song.
They did not see me.

They mistood me for you.
After all these years,
They saw your face, not mine.

7.

This obsession with mirrors
Will die out, or down,
As everything does.

This morning,
I ran out into the cold, bright meadow
And sought the millions of mirrors of water,

The first pure dew of fall
And with the mothers fluttering in the grass,
I looked into each,

And in each tiny mirror,
The face I saw was yours.
Shall I say I am defeated?

Shall I go down to the sea
And lie like a shell on its floor?
What I had hoped for

Was a glimpse of your tomb
Above me, below me,
Anywhere,

You, reclining in carved stone,
Your eyes open, seeking mine.
Now, shadows avoid me.

I have knocked down the sundial.
Noon, and again noon.
I have closed The Book of Faces.

They call out your name when they see me.
Even in a dim room,
The light casts my shadow,

Which is not my shadow,
On the bare white wall.
I am opening The Book of Bats,

The Book of Blind Fish
Who live in deep water,
Who stir ony as currents stir them.

When the last trumpet sounds,
When the gold hands reach down through the water
When the blind fish can see

I will not consider opening my eyes,
Walking back on the water.