Dreams

 

       Man kindles a light for himself in the nighttime.

              — HERODITUS OF EPHESUS

 

Their logic is not your logic, their rules

are your shadow rules, the passions at play

unconstrained by what you thought to be true —

life reconsidered, life retrieved. By day

you shoulder your fine certitudes; like an ox

you submit to the yoke of everything

you’ve gathered as your burdens.

                                                     But night mocks

your certitudes, it flies in on bat wings

and stages weird little plays starring you

as your self, works out the neurotheology

of your self, makes you play the fool

in every worst way — it watches you falling,

forever falling, falling . . .

                                           Dear night,

blameless night, take me down into the foundry,

soot-black, steaming, where the only light

is the glow of molten slag all around.

 

 

© Michael Fleming

Brattleboro, Vermont

March 2015

 

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