Alan Botsford – Ⅱ

waking visit 

 

 

 

I woke from my dream and it hurt.

The truth naked and awful that would be my gospel –who’d believe it?

The self that’s higher and deeper –where has it gone?

I carry the dream with me. It is heavy.

I try to ignore it, I try to remember it.

I’ve wept so many tears that I thought I caused landslides in my

neighborhood on the day the typhoon came through.

I’ve swallowed so many words from the people who spoke all around me that I shat out

this poem.

I heard the rage I saw their eyes that would not look at me,

I have made many choices which have chosen me too.

We are in this together they say. We are of a piece.

Well, I tell myself, I know we walk in the grey air left and right left and right

But how to arrive is the question.

It’s this language I visit.