Recurring Dream
Every few months I have this dream
where I take my balls out of their sack
and play marbles.
I’m on a Spanish galleon
over rough waters
so my unruly marbles
roll all over
the deck.
I try to chase after them
but I have a legitimate fear
of water.
Didn’t Shelley die at sea?
In a boat
made of ideas?
Ideas aren’t waterproof,
that’s the first thing
you learn.
Anyhow,
this deckhand with handlebar moustache
points to the horizon
and yells:
LAND!
In the shallows
we run aground.
Like this dream
this poem
this
life.