But waking from a late nap and going out into the chill I looked up and found something not being there— that brilliance once familiar now faded. It's a lot like every day, the night sky. You make shapes from points and tell stories about them, but eventually the shapes dissolve back into points and you forget the stories, and earthly light is the culprit. Maybe I ought not to have napped so much. Maybe if I hadn't forgotten what I dreamed.
Sunday Verse
Recovering
by Muriel Rukeyser
Dream of the world
speaking to me.
The dream of the dead
acted out in me.
The fathers shouting
across their blue gulf.
A storm in each word,
an incomplete universe.
Lightning in brain,
slow-time recovery.
In the light of October
things emerge clear.
The force of looking
returns to my eyes.
Darkness arrives
splitting the mind open.
Something again
is beginning to be born.
A dance is
dancing me.
I wake in the dark.
