The Second Moment

I said, "I dreamed that I couldn't 
even communicate my own 
accountability blocks."

She said, "So many intellectual
and emotional framings sound
trite in this day."

I asked, "Was I blocked or simply
not in the time and space
to talk the necessary language?"

She replied, "If you must lean,
lean into those connections
that don't yell and scream."

I said, "There was a piece of gold
in the dream.  Someone whispered,
Wait for the second moment."

She smiled.  "One really does not
have to know.  Feeling like there is
something present might be enough."

Known in Dreams

Sanctuary began this morning
when the first drop of dew
formed under the temple eaves,
offering a sense of beginning
without entering the holy of holies.

Throughout the world little men
prepare for the day by placing
stones on the ground, perfect
for unthought people who seek
to throw first without reaching.

The entrance to the silver mine
at the edge of town has been closed,
as nothing of value has been found
in those depths for persons to enrich
their looks or their lives.

A sense of beginning establishes
itself in the interior space behind
the purple curtain where the high 
priest goes to ask for divine
intervention on behalf of the people.

And the people awaken once again
with sleep in their eyes and a lightness
to their steps stirring beyond the rooms
of intimating walls where once they
had only known themselves in dreams.


I said, "I dreamed last night of an inchworm
measuring the distance of our suffering."

She said, "Distance times time equals 
the speed at which things fall apart."

I asked, "Do you think creation could
have been made any other way?"

She answered, "In the space we inhabit
change only happens at the edge
of where chaos and order frolic."

I asked another question, "Don't take 
this the wrong way but can I have 
the next dance?"

She replied, "Only if you fondly promise
to promenade with me all the way down
the corridor of time."


I have seen balls turn uphill,
neither rolled nor thrown,
when the world went upside down.

And the streets grew wider
making a way for thousands
to walk abreast holding hands.

Sheets removed themselves
from lion-clawed chairs.  Food 
and drink appeared on tables.

Warnings turned into eyes
wakening, dressing for time
captured during the day.

And the mudball needed
just a light rub or two
to become golden.

On Chagall’s “Green Violinist”

“If people read the words of the prophets with closer attention, they would find the keys to life.” – Marc Chagall

Imagine waking to the racket of Chagall's
green violinist dancing on the rooftops.

What tune does a purple-coated fiddler play
in the winter to wake the neighbors?

Every woke fiddler is green-skinned
and wears one black shoe and one white shoe.

Awaken from one-footed dreams 
of flying in purple pajamas.