From a dream fragment last night.
That pencil tip of light
at the end of the dark corridor
is my first grade classroom:
I’m walking now past the painting
of elephants upon elephants
and the tiny water fountain
that would be useful to normal human beings
if we drank though our kneecaps.
I remember looking out the window of this classroom
and seeing a formation of birds
soaring effortlessly above the autumn trees–
though when I look now
those same birds are flying in reverse,
wings struggling back, in unison,
as if, if they only tried hard enough,
they might row back to summer
the other seasons.