It was near dawn when I returned

from the dream: dark, quiet,

not really dawn, not really night.

The other place was quiet, back in the dream.

It was always quiet in that world.

It was always day in that world.

If Arlington cemetery had been around forever,

that’s what that place would have been:

a picture-postcard in the daylight.

The future?  No, just a place, a dream place

of white crosses out to the horizon,

green lawn out to the horizon,

not a living soul out to the horizon.

Leaning  back in the pillows,

the blankets began to warm to my touch.

I chuckled between sleep and waking,

wondering who tended the lawn

now that the dream was over,

now that I was gone.


first published in: Living With a Stranger: self portrait, 1993.

About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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