A Fall into Dreaming

I lay in the grass with a vision:

four trees in the corners of my space

their arms populating every periphery with foliage.

Gently swaying to drop beautiful dead gifts

for the ants running across my books and my arms.

I slept in the stillness and subtle motion of autumn

thinking of nothing but conversations that played

as though they had actually affected me.

Dry, locomotive words smearing my consciousness

like a rectangular eraser smears the artificial led.

A dream begins, but I’m unaware until it reaches

‘finis’:

To clean my dirty arms and soothe my swollen neck

I shower avec mon ami,

wiping and washing until she fears her skin

            will rupture and flee her.

She stands two heads above me on a step

the water blurring my visage

like my conversations do.

Entrenched in my muddied perception,

clarity arrives

from the shine off of her dripping calves and thighs.

I see clearly enough to scale these heighths

the legs shudder, clap, and feel thrilled;

there exists an impending fall.

I awoke to her reluctance of my advance

smiling with the luck I’ve had

in clear, conceptual dreaming.

The rain brings red foliage to my bed

with more haste than before:

A thunderstorm has awakened my love of color.

-Grant Durando 

10/2/12