The greatest idea for a poem
came to me in a dream.
It seemed that way at first, but then
I guess I was never really one
for meaning, I tend to place it
where it is not due. Sometimes,
too much. So this time, I won’t.
A body on a sidewalk, covered
with the thick gray cloth used to take
the place of galvanized iron. There appears
to be a murder, for bodies are all around. Some
motionless but breathing, what difference
does it make to a passer-by — apparently, none.
I was headed to the church.
Perhaps in dreams I have yet
to suspend belief, or I retain but
have yet to claim otherwise.
Faith is separated
from reality, but in dreams
anything was possible.
Still, I called out and yelped “God”
loosening of the folds, a contraction
of breath, regardless of who that may be
a hand reached
my left foot and looked
at me with pale eyes that
have long been lifeless before they even
The voice, coming
now from all directions, although reduced
to a whisper, asking
me to join him.
And I wondering