On this night
he walks silently
into her dream uninvited,
but she is used
to the incursions.
On other nights it
is she who sidles
up to him in the depths
of dreaming, each
ahead of dawn.
On rare nights each
enters the dreams
of the other, paths
the synaptic border.
On those nights
she looks for him,
he for her, each
the he or she
will be trapped,
alone, when dawn
arrives and the body
gently wakes, she
or he wandering lost
in a familiar
First published in The DIllydoun Review, Issue 1, December 2020 (Current Online Issue – the dillydoun review)
It looks perfectly normal, the kind
of restaurant you would seek out
on a Friday night in a distant city.
The people look like those you know
or could know, those from home for instance.
She is not remarkable, blonde, older,
a slightly twisted smile, blue eyes,
but on meeting there is a sudden distance
as though this is not a normal world,
certainly not the world where
you first met a cousin, and you have
a nagging feeling, which grows during the meal
that one of you is an alien, an avatar
from some other world, parallel perhaps,
and this reality is anything but, although
the pennette is quite remarkable.
Would you meet your first true relative at age 62
you know that while blood may be thicker than water,
it also congeals just as easily.
tell a strange story –
acid, a trip you never
intended to take –
that walk you
into a world
that is yours alone
a foreign place
you now must
She says she is certain
that she has seen
the archangel Gabriel.
It was late at night, to be sure,
but it clearly wasn’t someone of this world
and equally clearly not an alien
since there was no UFO or wormhole.
She knew, as well, it wasn’t God,
“Why would God trifle with me,
when there are so many more important people
to scare the devil out of.”
It had to be Gabriel, I just know it,
and in the end he did prove it to me,
not by speaking of course, his presence
was communication enough, but by how he dressed.
Only Gabriel, she noted,
would dare appear in public
in a deep beige Armani linen suit.