two separate things

Cycling through sleep and waking
is the analogue of night and day,
but it is always night on this journey,
night or day.

Sometimes I dream of you,
or dream of someone else
here in the night or day,
between planets, between suns.

I dream of someone else sharing my air.
I think I would be good at sharing my air,
and my water, too.

I would be good at sharing.

Better than I was,
when there was night
and day -
two separate things.

Immigrant Dreams

It is the height of summer
and another bouquet of basil
is clutched together on the cutting board.

When you pluck a leaf, the fragrance
engulfs you for a moment -
you are back in Sicily,
but this time you are not poor.

Tomatoes, engorged by recent rain
split their skins, not waiting for the knife.
The meaty fruit is the color of a sunrise
over the Mediterranean
on a cloudless morning.

The yellow squash and zucchini
are laying up in the dirt,
and it pleases you to imagine the box
you will carry into the church basement
with "FREE!" hand written on the side.

Gossamer dreams

What do you do with this?
morning memories of dreams

Gossamer wings like mosquitoes
that you cannot catch
and brush aside

cannot rid yourself of
even by trying to drown them in coffee.