Emissaries of Presence
I wondered each time if they were not what they appeared to be
Blood is the medium of dreams
Liquid celluloid run through
Heart projectors. When we dream
Of loved ones lost, we bleed.
Chinese medicine defines bleeding as “spillage,”
A leaking substance leaving the vessel
That was made to contain it. Last night, you
Spilled out from my heart — the dream of
You, a surgeon’s blade. I thought
I saw you once, when an owl
Landed on the road in front of me
And stayed. Days later, a swarm of bees
Entered and exited my home. There
Was also a gray dog who followed me
Three blocks home from the market,
Kept up with every footfall, then up
Nineteen steps to my apartment, he
Came in through the door, in the middle
Of the living room he sat, stared into
My eyes. These happenings, all real
Sound more like dreams than do my actual
Dreams of you. Animals carry
Presence capable of accommodating souls.
I wondered each time if they were not
What they appeared to be, but emissaries
Sent from your mystery into mine.
In last night’s dream, you had a human face
Quiet and unspeaking. I am
Hesitant to spend time with you that way.
Afraid of how it feels when I wake up and you
Remain invisible to the air around me, still
Gone from my blood, absent from your own.
