We'll Meet in Sleep

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Taking refuge in dreams now; one can hear the final thread of sanity snap . . .

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We’re not neurotic in this place of stasis.
Drinks are poured, biographies spilled.
Silver and wet from a downpour of moon
God blows out the stars and crawls to the bar.
We’ll crouch and kiss by the rose and the grime.
Noon comes nicotine-stained and ninety degrees.
The garden gnomes wink and whisper poems
We can’t understand like the lives
We’ve tried that we can’t understand.
A mirage of Eden shimmers with gold.
Drifts of snow bury the old arched window
And the stone columns stand by shivering.
All those haunted autumns lit by pigeons,
Pills, politeness, and the promise of spring.
We’ll meet in sleep by the rose and the grime.