The Raving Fortune
PASSING OVER WATER
The sunset is blinding today.
The bridge seems to have shed its cables,
And everything tapers to a methodical hissing, a calm.
I cannot hear above the wheels that softly sing
What seems a lullaby to soothe all of creation,
Meant to reach even into the rich marrow of stars.
I dreamed this once,
The bridge, the sea, the song of the train,
And in the dream there were fluorescent trees,
Fuchsia, bright yellow, electric teal,
Brushing against the sky in the breeze like fiber-optic lamps.
In the dream there was a feeling of utter silence,
Palpable as sketches for buildings,
And I wondered when it would leave, if it would leave at all,
Or if it would exist only in the prism of that instant
Where earlier I’d heard a voice urging me
Through an anguished mesh of faces and rain:
Forget everything you know, it is of no use to anyone,
And your ominous conjectures will shrivel away
In the salt of your own affliction.
I remember I sat in my seat just as I am now sitting,
Whispering over and over dark is right, dark is right,
And when I turned my face to the clear, dark window
I saw lions struggling to climb out of the sea.