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JOSEPH LISOWSKI
Dream
A man dreams
that he is a new man,
neither young nor old.
He stands against
a grey background,
maybe clouds,
maybe an ordinary room.
He is whole, seamless.
Others drift by
and fade into grey.
A few notice him.
And he spins his hands
which have no fingers
but five large triangles
of fine-beaten gold
sparkling from each hand.
They are close to each other
and whirling. They create a sun.
Tremendous peace fills him.
He transmits life beyond death.
Those who notice
are caught in the stream.
Later, he looks into a cave
and sees himself in a dark pond,
wedged in a corner,
exposed to his chest.
An old electric hairdryer
lies nearby, hot with electricity.
He feels that its owner
may throw it in the water.
He decides the worry is for another time.
He turns back to his spinning hands.
More come and leave in the light.
Copyright JOSEPH LISOWSKI (all rights reserved; To copy or translate this poem, please contact the poet)
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