Dream Study, and: We Sat Grown Quiet

Dream Study

No, wait	—I’m at it again,
let me catch	my breath, I’m gasping
up	in my bed,
I’m slow even asleep—	like a corpse on its way,
dreams are always black	always lopsided
and white	starring yours truly
always;	and John.
I might think my coat is pink	I might think it
but that’s just a shadow	a worm alive in my heart
and John	in college
in the Sound	a picture not in color
in the nighttime	too dark to remember awake,
that’s just a nightmare,	I was full of him
his back a spotlight	in all my dreams
of moon	broken
on dark dark water,	I was heavy with him—
In fact I was not there,	a twenty-four hour watch,
I was not on the beach	just in case
then, but I am now	painting myself into the scene—
why is it winter?	(it was always winter)—
Where is	and what and how can I in
his towel?—	a movie with no sound.
I’m fixing all the wrong problems.	I’m desperate to win this one.
He’s swimming quickly,	The white worm
punishment	for tequila…
for punching the wall—	I can’t change.
the text was in plain English	201 area code
“I’ll swim until I can’t,”	I deleted the number
black letters	J-o-h-n
on a white screen	erased—
the rise and fall of	my chest
his moon back	is real
breaking up the stillness	right now
why can’t I run	in our white bed,
I’m on the concrete	in a dream
Connecticut	is no state
I yelled and yelled	to ask questions.
John kept swimming.	We’re on our way.

We Sat Grown Quiet

Behind the bedroom door is a baby, fast asleep.Her blue eyes stay closed until morning. She sleeps

so well. “And how can you not believe in God?” the priestasked as he held Mary close. Mary in the bath. Mary asleep.

On jogs I see miracles everywhere now, hard bodiesof mothers on each block. Until now I’d been asleep

to the phenomenon. Waves and waves and wavesof pain until on the shore of your belly a baby sleeps.

What else besides the ocean? The choice betweentrying again or floating away or falling asleep.

Later my face in the mirror resembled a flag in the last windas evening comes on, that wicked time. As though asleep,

I dream I am on a ship heading in a direction I’ve never been,a ship maker watching the horizon swallow years of sleep.

Already I am Thomas Hardy and you my deceased family. You see,in the metaphor you get my heart for eternity. “Goodnight now, sleep

well.” The image of any woman leaning over a crib, wet hair dangling like linesof a story as old and unknowable as what the priest calls grace. Or sleep.