Dream Sequence

Village not a village
but a tiny western town,
one main road, graveled,
a young man walking away,
a picnic basket hung
upon his arm.

A football stadium casts
a shadow across the road,
its metal doors closed,
held fast by clumps
of dry weeds.

Cabins ahead, scattered
in a grove of mossy oaks.

The road divides:
I follow the narrower path
down into the mist,
a mistake, perhaps,
for I am suddenly alone
and far from home
in worn out shoes.

In the departing mist
a flat-roofed building looms:
its rooms are clean,
but empty.

I wander until I find a door,
beside it an office window
gleaming with artificial light,
someone recently,
no one now.

On the door a handle I pull
to find a city waiting
on the other side,
shops and buildings
tall and square and resolute,
sunlight brightly playing.

But the street, so beautiful,
successful, and wide, is empty,
no cars, no skirts ruffled
by the breeze, no cigarettes
in doorways softly glowing,
no grateful clink of ice-cold glasses
or boys and girls running.

I close the door without a sound,
wonder where to go,
what to do.

November 22, 2005

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Also by William Michaelian

Winter Poems

ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco

Signed copies available

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