Looking For a Dog That’s not Mine

 

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.

Once,

I was getting close to what could have been

a belief, a faith.

But then,

so much unrelenting faith-wrecking sorrow.

 

And now,

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,

in this dream.DSCN1999

 

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