Interdictions

A dream exudes its sweet spoor
here, redolent of two worlds
in one house far away where
my past and future live:
I travelled with an other --
You, blue master, yet
also at other moments
an old friend or a bandmate,
a counselor, my wife --
Travelling from too far
West toward my old West,
to the house where
my old bass player now
lives (so said the dream)
lives with a wife who
is dominant and he
her HoneyDo -- A Christian
pair evolved toward Christina
shores, while I have rowed
the other way -- or so
I think, or like to think.
One bookcase was
packed with Bibles and
only one AA Big Book;
they talked of Church
activities like a quilt
that covered all of life;
two beds side by side
with white duvets where
their living room once was;
there was a bird inside
a central cage; outside
I found a stone wall only
two stones high with a
great stream nearby,
inside or close to a
freeway -- plenty of
stones but no time
or will to haul ‘em.
The house was poor,
the tin roof all rust,
the neighborhood
blue collared, long victured
on dust and tumbleweeds,
hard-scrabbled gains
to meager to much measure.
But they were happy.
A big shaggy dog pled
for me to walk it, smiling
and bounding about; I wanted
to walk far with him, I wanted
to stone up that wall
and fix the roof and
find AA meetings
and make those two
beds one: I wanted all
that consequence to marry
the insides of my heart,
though I could only visit
what was in my past
a law that has grown
too explicit. The dream
took me far -- I woke
later today than ever,
6 a.m., more than 8
hours of sleep, barely
time to write these lines
before the day begins
with everything outside
that dream’s inside
the daily boat I row,
like a dark wake
or disturbing undertow
where chilled truths
blend with desire
composing what I
can’t or won’t quite see
but row on happily
with all my sails on fire.