Patti smith and a bath that leaves me dry in the knuckles but warm in the bones
Donkey Gospel in the hail
Pit pat on the tin roof
I always wanted a tin roof
It has been here waiting
What is there to grasp?
Olives and cheese plates to soak in
and deep adoration of all that these walls hold
Sometimes I think
that after my soul leaves this fleshy body
it will fly out into the night – (because it will be night)
into the drift
of roads and tall tall trees that loom in shadowy highway streches of west coast dreams
I wonder often if dreams are just a collection of all the small moments we perceived happening somewhere else, or perhaps in another life, happening alongside our own.
I dreamt I hitched a ride
Everyone of us in the van were given a large smooth stone by a border security man
Mine was half dark sea blue and half white. Oblong, the size and shape resembling a small watermelon, or gourd
I asked if anyone in the ride would like to trade
I did not feel attached to mine
Everyone calmly replied , with a look of understanding,
“The stones choose you. It is your stone.”
I felt a heavy understanding, maybe small shame in my request
We arrived at the long stretch of white sand, after a parking lot of busy movement
and beyond that, a glittering sea.