5.17.2019

the American dreamwork




NAVE RESTORATION

The American dreamwork seems to grow
of itself, like a vagrant
acorn’s buried descendant
branches roots into veins of air, so –

leaving yourself behind, then
as in a park playground
at dusk, all around
echoing shouts of kids having fun

within the green lamps of those trees
& the circle of daydreaming
grownups, their evening
rest emerging at last – the iron wheeze

of the swing-set beginning to mesmerize
with its creaky metronome –
& you have a premonition of home,
like a matryoshka doll of paradise

or a houseboat nested in a boathouse.
American as they don’t get?
Anonymous as a planet
without name, yet – Isis, Osiris...

A figure stands at the dream door.
They put the body there?
Now it’s not anywhere.
He gone, she gone (to tell them more).

Hobo Ulysses glides toward New Orleans,
St.-Jeanne of the Delta,
Jonah.  Coracle fella,
acorn Cap.  Nave restoration’s what it means.

5.17.19

No comments:

Post a Comment