Contrary to the general malaise
last night, on my ornate roof,
I fell asleep looking out to the smog
that hides this monster
that eats mud and lives
that stretches out from the mountain
its bony fingers under the asphalt
propelling cars ever farther.
The sounds were diffuse, drumming
but also birds and cats, and mothers
calling back boys that wept
and girls who stood stern.
The fume of a plane burst into red
as I dreamed of power, as always,
the more helpless I am, the more
I seek refuge in another realm.
A voice (my dad’s?) in the background
a finger (his?) pointing to something
I strain to see a canon on a cart
pulled by ten or more horses.
the city almost a town, and cold under snow
everywhere donkeys and fur hats
and a sky that accentuates
nothing but stark corpses.
And then I do see, her outline,
the quick gesture with which
she wrapped up like a whirlwind,
my eyes watering free and deep.
I am humbled, on sacred ground,
and emotion chokes my throat.
I want to run, down the stairs,
but they stretch beyond my reach.
Jam09
