He dreamed of that country with which he had been long acquainted, now exiled . . .
In the dream, the dead of that place fearsomely confronted him, their limbs clobbering across his shoulders : the once handsome living spoke, but were shorn of their hands and arms : here, all that persisted as stubbornly evident simultaneously declared itself as crucially absent : when it came time for him to leave, a nostalgia more expansive than he had ever known possessed him- he stood on a hill overlooking the seacoast town, suddenly aware that he could now perceive, within massed shadows of the wickedness of loss, an instance of supernal paradise : “if only one more day here” he sorrowed- “were I to remain one day!” : but his sojourn was accomplished — he surrendered his ticket, and moved to take the wheel in his hands : when he woke, he listened to the heart needle, that eyeless stranger, its stylus sounding near to eardrum : rain had come upon the roof of the world, now, together with its ghosts of windrow.
All blogposts Copyright © 2023 by Michael D. Main. All rights are reserved. Michael D. Main holds the copyrights to all works authored by Michael D. Main, including and not limited to all his poems, notes, blogposts, and photography posted on this author website. No part of these publications may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, republishing, recording or otherwise express written permission from the copyright holder. Be aware that although these works may be freely accessible on the World Wide Web and may not include any statement about copyright, the U.S. Copyright Act nevertheless provides that such works are protected by copyright laws.
Comments