Dream

I had dreams last night of poems. not words, not dreaming in poems or streaming words, but of solid beings and tangible beings. It woke me up in the middle of the night, but I couldn’t remember the words. Sharon Olds was there because we are friends. In my heart at least. I was dizzy with them and asleep with them. They were wind poems and water poems. That’s what they felt like to me – things that go through you. Don’t look at what makes them – pick them apart – look at the whole things for what it is. It’s not the molecules, but the water itself. As I fell back asleep, I knew I needed to hold on to something, but how do you hold wind and water? You turn it into something else – you capture it.

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