While asleep on my back,
fingers jitter, type a worrisome
montage of scenes, beginning
with a fall from a harp player’s sky
to an ocean of sharks,
a parachute, opening late,
and a small wooden raft
floating towards shore.
Playing cards rain on the boardwalk,
a street tough walks out of a bar,
his girlfriend, a crush I had
back in high school,
holds up a seven
of hearts, kisses
my cheek and takes
off her blouse.
My dog lies in a curl near my bed,
quietly woofs in a dream.
I wiggle and squirm, roll my side.
Her perfume still lingers,
all of the rockers have left
and the club is in shambles.
Outside the landscape expands.
In a field of tall grass I follow a path
to a baptismal lake. A man like my father
smoothes out the water. Cottonmouths
swim near the shore. Giant turtles,
covered in duck weed and moss,
stretch out their necks and snap
at the air. I’m immersed
in green water, my white robe
is covered in slime.
Cars pass and light circles the room.
Sweat soaks through white sheets.
No one knows why I arrived on this stage.
The audience stares, I feel I’m a fraud
but begin an apologetic speech
that explains
who I am and how I know
life is a dream, reoccurring.
