dawn
by David McAleavey
after Rimbaud
On the deck railings and balusters two vines thrive. You report dreaming about living again in your childhood house, kindly neighbors still across the street hosting a troop of Girl Scouts; I dreamt about touring ruins in Scotland with assorted miscreants. Who like to deflect hints from other travelers, being furtive, crapulous, uninterested in seriousness. Blatantly as the passion flowers open and abundant as the clematis and as unlinked as these dreams are to summer, how unsurprising really, concentration arriving only intermittently, – as if to say, so like dying. Yes! what we want reveals itself first through disappearing.
xxx.
I climb says vine, by frilly tendril, bulge into bud then flower! the dirt I’m from has only me to declare its desire!
๛
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