A dream was caught red handed awake
in the glare of morning.
The nudge of waking had begun,
yet my eyes had been pierced by light,
a bright disarming bolt.
and for a brief moment,
an Augenblick,
I went blind, instead of waking.
Yet, in my mind,
the dream continued to play out.
I wished not to leave.
I could hear a stage director calling out to me,
Time to do your lines!
Telling me about words and who needs them.
She went on to say we don’t even need books,
and we sure as hell do not need any more
Just then my Mother leans into the conversation:
We always need bookshelves!
Then she leaned back again
As we nowsat together in a car.

A man was loading bookshelves into the back.
He talked as though on a battery.
One eye suspiciously looking my way,
the other focused from
a deep pool of all he knew,
a well within him.
He was covered in scars yet
filled with cheerful stories
tying the shiftings of the world together,
as he rattled on.
He was happy
to be getting rid of his bookshelves.
My Dad was in the car now.
He ran his fingers around
the brim of his straw hat and
looked down and decided to stay out of
any arguments about bookshelves.
Right then my mind began to wonder
How could I know
my Dad’s thoughts?
Who was that other guy?
Weren’t we just on a stage?
Thoughts floated around like collage
pieces not glued down.

No time left for answers.
Pictures move faster than words.
It was over,
though so much happened
in the blink of an eye.