Whether Ebb Or Flow
I pay attention to the clouds
the way that one would sit with sages,
silent as discrimination,
unattached to statements.
I understand that information
gathers with a walk along the beach,
warms or cools, clings and oozes
like the sand that fills
the Universe between my toes
then rinses off the way a dream
just comes and goes.
Whether ebb or flow
it tells me what I see
is never all there is.
Another front,
a new formation
waits behind each wind,
beneath the hat the sun is wearing,
behind the turquoise poet’s eyes
that never blurt their observations.
I can find myself
in their reflection
but I don’t ask for likenesses,
no interpretations
that I can’t or won’t release.
I accept the failure of predictions,
untie all my expectations
and stand ready for the rain,
the clearing,
any clarity that hits the rocks,
the short surprise of time
that carries me
as slowly or as swiftly,
as gently or as grudgingly
as I allow myself to go.
A Dream About A Dream
I had a dream about a dream
and you were there,
beautiful as any dream.
You were with me in my dream
and in the dream about the dream.
I whispered it to you
and you were listening
like a young god would a prayer,
reading lips and speaking in my tongue,
interpreting my obscurest symbols,
tracing each indented word
with a gifted finger,
mastering the Braille
of my intentions.
I sensed that we’d been there before
together on that sacred acre,
dreaming in each other’s arms.
Was it just me?
Have you walked along that beach as well,
trying to remember,
searching for a piece of rock or shell
to pocket like a charm,
like change that you could earn?
Have you been hoping all this time
that I would dream this dream,
that I would wander close enough to kiss?
And have you wondered
if I’m out here praying
that you’re somewhere
drifting off in faithful sleep,
believing that my dreams
will all come true?
