In the dream as I lay
In that perfect cusp betwixt and begetting
In either direction both summer and fall
Hung there, but the moment
In a place where a thing is enveloped
By that which it envelops,
And as it is recalled, recall:
A less-than-chance encounter
In an old secondhand bookstore
Recognition, and genuinely complimentary praise
And I am less flattered than I am grateful as we speak
For the culmination of contact and understanding.
Yet in reality, eyes rarely meet and I imagine
Still there exists beyond us, that sphere wherein the singularity is shattered
Into this multitude confluence of moment, and may be witnessed.
As we do happen upon one another, an obligatory acknowledgement;
I thank you awkwardly and exit only with my purchase
Not of grace, contact, connection, or will
And head back out into the daylight
Waking to same
Pondering the contrast of these hypotheticals, only then I see the reason
Notice understanding,
Though this poem I dreamt leaves me burdened still
With the telling and conjugation of things
Which ultimately persist without name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem