the dream  

who could sleep last night
with the siren flaying the street

I left a Berkelian dream of my end
in a pattern of warmth on the bed

to leave something at the window, too
flecked with light but not important

I had not forgotten how I lay
not curled and dreaming comfort

no fanciful geometry of legs or arms
not reaching with holes for nails

after the window, the brief
annoyance at forgetting

I found the pattern once again
an archer's pose with back-tipped head

and remembered

they brought a horse for each breath's limb
and pulled to the far horizons

© 2006 Gordon C. McRae