That Good Night
Most of us, thank
god, do not have the dream
The glass vase
dropped down stairs
When the furnace of
chest leaks to the lip
Popocatepetl and
Iztaccihuatl
Breath like an engine
Heart like village
drums
Grasping to the
bathroom blurred and soupy-thoughted
Sawed in half like a
sex-glossed stage model
To decompose here at
the railing
Lost at a scenic
overlook
This is the whirr of
moment
Before a
stroke. Unaware of words colliding
For reliance on smell
in the night
Listening for the
olfactory
Windows wide unto the
heavens
Footsteps, or the wind? A dirge by organ
It comes out of
nowhere, like a burglary
Played by the feet.
You ride the rails
Wafting from an antique
armoire
Odor of wood when wet
Go quiet into an
eternal womb
Sprawl, long in a last
cool space of air
Slipping in from the
Ganges
Go under with your
eyes open
Remember: Open, to
this rare dream