It takes a flicker of my eyelids this morning
and the dream returns,
of a church and cousins,
a Sunday sermon about to begin,
crowds dribbling out the side doors,
down the stairs.
I’m looking for a dog that’s not mine
and for a rental car.
I’ve been asked to join,
to sing even,
but I won’t.
All I want to do is get out.
This dream in its return
stirs the vestiges of memory.
I was getting close to what could have been
a belief, a faith.
so much unrelenting faith-wrecking sorrow.
I’m in a car,
with a dog that isn’t mine
trying to decide whether to stay,
to join my cousins in a church,
maybe sing even,
or to drive away,