Sunday, September 30, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Novus Ordo Incendium
I dream a dream-
It has been said.
The dog alongside wakes
suddenly at this very moment,
and the next, springs forth to
search out her mate-
she has forgotten her master
altogether.
The midnight sun catches in
our throats
like so much desert dust.
Yellowed paper and tattered plastic
ware from the glove box will do,
So hungry so hungered so very
hungry;
Nous sommes Americanes-
And despite or because of
this,
A thirsty lot we have become;
overturning all that is rooted,
a search for seeing goes on.
A remembrance:
Traces of the dream expand forever,
as only small, overturned things can grow,
reusing their own past
insomuch that the dream takes
a new body, having grown a new soul,
fed upon the desert soil, a
sated lot we become,
because of or despite all of
this.
And as each wanders
purposefully toward reconciliation,
the past tense of the
subjunctive hanging
on every word,
our searching walk daily reveals
memory
passing orange groves and
nutmeg trees
with their fruits and seeds
orange, creamy white ,and scarlet-
the pattering music of patio
breakfasts drifting like cirrus over cedar fences,
as only a little, dewey rain
upon the grass
remains from the night
before.
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