Morning came again, bright as Technicolor,
as I woke from a dream about death.

(in dreams, lately, I have been

a spider, monk, grocery shopper
with a big green bag)

When the midday sun painted

shadows on pavement, I drove on
autopilot–completing the essential tasks. 

(on the radio: dreams of equity
becoming reality. I was glad)

By dinner, the car pulled back to home,
as if I wasn’t driving it

at all.