A Normal Dream
Nighttime, eases my head to the pillow
and the sky unzips.
Here, anything can happen-
the shelf stocker from Wegmans,
suddenly an Arabian prince.
And I have three-eyes, nothing
out of the ordinary. We fly over Ithaca
on my friend’s orange doormat
(I hope she doesn’t miss it). Dropping
kumquats and persimmons to cats
with outstretched paws. Many gather
below, until I see my neighbor dressed
like the Tribe of Masai, he has curly tusks
and is rolling grassy marbles,
in a game that makes perfect sense.
I call out, “Hello!” but I’m speaking a language
of stars, only glistening light falls from my lips.
The cats stretch out, as if there was sun.
My neighbor starts eating the marbles
and my Arabian Prince points back
towards the pillow. I hope he returns the doormat
before his a.m. Wegman’s shift.
Birds of Night
Nighttime, casts away the day,
it has unfolded as it will.
The shift in light once brought an end
to peace. In autumn, when a clock change
made darkness roll early,
I’d stand on the edge of a field,
watch the corn on the cusp of withering
and feel existential dread.
As if the sky opened up too wide, and crows
heading to roost, beckoned me to follow.
I’d imagine their sooty wings, dark nests and trying
to fold my legs properly in the land of bird.
I wanted to be taken in, away from the fading light.
Eventually moving in with an owl,
far from the field and corn stalks whispering,
and learn to embrace the night.
