_91. Dreaming Earthling

or, The Life of the Mind

A cliffside archangel,
a world of lost souls
and the oceans they drown in;
these are dreams I’ve never had.
I am a fortunate child
of the joyful sea
and with our friend have
sailed its bays, plumbed its
depths and seen the masked
face of God illuminate
the Eastern shore with
his lieutenant shafts of light;
I am the son of an earth
that needs no angels.

But I, too, have seen the end
walking along the dreamy sands
at the end of my life
I was just that:
dust, red and fine,
held together by the superlative
tensions of alpine highs
and petite-mort lows.
When, with such an ecstatic shudder,
our friend’s logical engine halted
a black-winged chess piece
took off around the room;
we live trapped in our cavernous
imaginations. I would ask
St. Michael to protect me
from myself.

You asked what I believed,
dear beautiful mind.
I would live a half-week’s dream
again, to exercise my intelligent self
and hear your visions.
But I didn’t choose
the blackberried fields of England.
I chose instead the sun
and stand to inherit its fortunes.
In my dream I walk a long hallway
only once, trying to peer through
the closed doors.