Again in a Dream

Walking alone
and slowly to my room

in an old style hotel,
I take a wrong turn.

A hall of paper doors
are sliding open

to the ocean.
Battleships moored

to concrete pillars.
Japanese children

naming all the birds.
Hato, tsuru, suzume.

Every person was a coast.
How do I decide

what it means?
All of it is beautiful.

The rooster too
chasing a scared child

around the tatami room.
I drop my bags

onto the sofa in wonder:
How fast I have gone

from being lost
to being where I desired.

I have no reason
for telling you this.

Only that I once read
a poem in a pier

for you. And that
was the only plan.

Not the rain.
Not the Chinese drunks

laughing about business
in the hotel bar.

Not falling in love with you
again and again,

as if we were empty
bookshelves in a library:

metaphor for our hope
for all the five-year olds

sitting calmly by the shore—
that they will all have

something meaningful to say
one day. Some days, I think

my life’s been a map.
What’s left of it

only a long revision.
One morning I will wake

having completed
the book of everything

I know. Laughing
at boring old stupidities

and you are beside me.
I am telling you

of the peacefulness
of birdsong

or how everything
is only suspicion.

Even the meowing
of the bedside kittens.

Then maybe I will tell you,
as I do, about all things

I don’t know.
A life of only questions

as the sun climbs
the cloudscape,

and we are tangled up
in morning,

revising and revising
and revising.

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3 thoughts on “Again in a Dream

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