A minor quartet

The Art of Dreaming I
1. Close your eyes
2. Remember

The Art of Dreaming II
1. Trust your eyes
2. Surrender

The Art of Dreaming III
1. Damn your eyes
2. Carry on

The Art of Dreaming IV
1. Open your eyes
2. Forgive


You will understand part of what I say here,
like seeing parts of the river of use to you,
like knowing the rock by the cracks
into which you can squeeze a hand or foot.

Love dissolves walls, but kernels remain.
How can I embrace you, if we become one?
How can I crave your touch, if it is only my own?
For every melding there is a sever,
and for every sever a mending.

It’s a riddle: how can you know a changing fate?
How can you see yourself through your own eyes?


A low, dense day, shorn of tinsel
and the great bauble of the sun –
the air clings like an unwanted lover,
the spaces between the points

in these digital hours lose form
as soon as they’re suggested.

So much of life is expectation,
the will to imagine a future,
as if now were not all there ever was.

Still, I don’t doubt the earth will turn
and the sun will seem to rise
whether I’m here to share the illusion
or not.

The mind scrambles input, remixes
and dethrones it all for
want of diversion, the past recedes
behind us exactly as far as we bother
to imagine it, and the future

disappears within our grasp, like some
bitter-sweet version of cotton candy.

And yet, when the doorbell rings
I rush to answer it.