days in review

I wonder how much more I'm
dreaming, with all this sleep?
how many more minutes of
unconscious emotion
where in warmer rain Gael Garcia Bernal's
smile made me cry
for the open road of
Argentina ayayayy las
pampas, la moto, las
lagrimas
but only on Monday, and
really it's that many more minutes
to the tune of a relaxed heartbeat
a playlist of warm
sun and seed dance
pizza and tea and the hugs
that sustain me, sightings of
a neighbor so far away
I don't feel like
walking there anymore.

How do we move in dreams?
At night, all's right in the
world when we're up against the wall--
dancing,
flying made of luna bars and laughter
--or wandering
on a percoset wave watching warm
conversation and raucous room of
trappist beer, burgers, bright-
eyed friend of so many bad
puns and double periods,
connecting
--or floating, like
my mother in grace and
Indian shawl who heals my
throat with her cold tickly hands and
on my way back to sleep
four rowers at High St loiter
and give me a dusky daffodil

unfolding
dreams of a
tent made of intertwining vines,
where the stars are far-
away echos of our
flashlight beams.

CVP