Thursday, July 13, 2006

In A Dream Of White Lead

in a dream of white lead
I heard the word

you said that dream
should come to you, not me,
but can dreams be chosen?

later I dreamed that Joseph Brodsky
returned to his first
New York apartment
one week after his death,

stunned by the vacancy.

and in next year's ochre-lighted dream,
to a furnished one, complete
with friends and reviewers:

smiling, in a light apart
at their consternation,

as once he stood before
Soviet tribunals so
clearly, tenderly, ironically

"decided by God"

mary angela douglas 30 september 2000/31 may 2005

copyright 2006