waking.
my dreams infused with slips of you,
i will tell you only what i can remember..
i get out of the car,
and go around to the back
to get my piles of books out..
i sort through them, and all
my father’s papers but end up
grabbing these nautili carved from wood
and filled with living plants instead.
i carry these with me as the car pulls away
and i am left alone on this dark surburban street.
a large wooden nautilus in each hand,
i start walking, looking for the right house
but i can’t remember what it looks like..
tall grass grows in some of the yards,
and a woman wanders aimlessly,
her bathrobe untied and flapping..
i follow her into her backyard
where she shows me her prize-winning roses
and hummingbird feeders,
glass flowers filled with sugar water..
i can see the ruby heads glittering,
dipping into the sweet center-
this is their drug, and when the woman dies,
so will the hummingbirds..
as she tells me this, i watch
bees swarming over the hummingbirds,
i can’t understand what’s happening-
are they being devoured? caressed?
then it hits me:
the bees are making honey
from the hummingbird blood.
in his purple poppy palace
the black jaguarito prince
tells me of the love with which he raises
and tenderly cares for his hordes of bees..
in his colony, there is no queen.
instead, there is a fat, larval king
who only stirs when the flames burn high and bright..
when he feels the warmth in the room, the adulation..
otherwise, he sleeps, encased in half a chrysalis..
i am talking to in my room,
i show her an exquisite art nouveau medusa mask,
which she wants to wear to the ball..
i brush her ginger coloured hair,
which has grown so long, and falls in soft waves-
the hair of the perfect pre-raphaelite maiden..
she wants serpentine tendrils to hang around the mask,
and i try to coax snakes from her fleecy locks..
other things are so vivid, but i can’t find the
reason in remembering them-
the little tomboy, so eager to see me-
i tell her to wear cedar instead of washing.
the car alarm that finally wakes me
begins as strange music in my slumber,
before i realize what it is..
the longer i can lay abed,
recounting certain snippets-
the longer i can sleep at night,
voyaging far afield.