arriving in the middle
where all plots suspend
the caravan of loose magic
rolls into town
bumping along an almost familiar road
scenarios swerve and sway
history no longer consigned to make sense
jars and slips from under the skin
strange landscapes offered by the brain
mine the subconscious
speak images in many registers
give wonder and irony the heave
because it is a dream
the dead live again
linger in the permeable
reveal the shape of wind
navigated by the dreamer
the curve of time does not exist
nor the buzz of endeavor
with its industry and sweep
somewhere a clock alarms
a surfeit of life will stir and forget
while the caravan of loose magic
heads off to its next destination
– Les Bernstein
