Wednesday, February 4, 2009

An Old Poem

possibly one of my favorites. it started as an in-class exercise and morphed into this. been going over a lot of old writings and this is one of my best pieces.

Dreams from the Sun

I used to stand still
on cloudless days,
age eight on the
black top, looking up
at the sun.
I would first squint,
then shadow my eyes,
trying to focus on
that body hanging,
lit and bright,
in the afternoon sky.
I always swore I saw
someone; a dream of life
on the surface of a star.
I was never sure,
so I imagined a man.
He was dulled white,
like the frosted bulbs
in my basement –
an overcoat to protect
the years of shine.
He was always in
a room, millions of lamps
encircling him, every one,
switched on.
He stood at the center of
the circle, his eyes burning
yellow, his body the color
of dry sand. He never had
a bed, or a chair, or even a
wall to lean on.

Now, years later,
I still stare, and still
believe, that a man
inhabits the star
hanging above my
head. He has never
rested or slept, and his
dreams, both day and
night, are only possibilities,
never meant to be realized.
When I close my eyes now,
after staring as long as I can,
I imagine that the neon discs
hanging in the black of my eyelids
are actually his dreams, passing
from one body to another.
From rose colored -
a dream of passion -
to violet, - a dream
of colder weather -
to yellow, the color
of the sun - a dream
of watching himself
rise and set against
the blue of the sky.
I have dreamt
for that man
for years, and
I will dream
until his home
swallows itself,
collapsing inward
before exploding
outward, engulfing
me and my dreams.
He won’t need me then,
and though he may be
confused, adjusting to
the lack of light with
a set of blinking eyes,
he’ll find his way to a
soft spot and lie down.
Observing those he used
to be like, he’ll stare into
space and finally fall
asleep to the sound of
nothing, the first of an
infinite body of dreams
being dreamt.

No comments:

Post a Comment