Still Life With Reluctant Dream
The dream sits on a stool with a black blanket over it.
I point my antiquated pinhole camera at the shape
on the stool, to capture at least the folds in the fabric
which affirm that something is living. Amidst the dust
and velvet backdrop are crystals, a bird’s nest,
a red telephone: small objects I have placed
to ease the dream’s transition from the ether
where I netted it. The dream must feel at home
before I document and conquer it. I need to know
so badly. The dream knows this, my weak-kneed
need to know, and keeps the blanket on.
I burn a dictionary: the dream rustles
just once. I feel it is cruel, that the dream stays a shape
in my own room of ritual, though I have all day for this,
to try to take the blanket off,
make it sing a little.