July 13, 2009

Like Coleridge, last night
I dreamed in art,
and if I were wise I
would have had paper
and pen at my bedside
and if I were wise I
would have written on the
walls if there was no paper
and if I were wise I
would have written it with
blood if there was no ink.

But instead, I lounged in
the warmth of awake
and let the story vanish,
just like the great skeletal
eel vanished in my dream
with a wave of her vaporous hand.