Dusk, the time when light falls Down the staircase of stars and Rolls onto to the other side

This was the time in the dream I saw (Created & participated in too?) A few minutes before, today at dawn.

It had to be India because Of that smell – burning rubber mixed With strands of jasmine buds sold roadside.

You wore a strand in your hair, Khol darkened your already dark eyes, A black sun covered your third eye.

The dress was kadhi – rough like your Laughter and intimate like your love. I encountered you thus, as you were leading

A line of demonstrators. What they were Demonstrating for or against, I can’t say, For none were shouting slogans or waving flags.

I waved to catch your eye. And you turned, As one turns on TV, towards a popping flash And coolly went your way, into a wall and

Disappeared between the legs of a gyrating hero Of a garish cinema mural painted on that wall. And since I am never content with things

As they are and need explanations, I went to him, That friend you and I haven’t heard from in years. But he kept walking down an avenue of falling leaves

Not turning around, as if he was deaf or I was A mute, shouting without sound. I woke up then And began to write this down, thinking How absurd this dream was, and how true!

After a run through the woods – In winter they are like unfinished Houses, sans doors, sans windows,

I come to sit on this mossy rock That overhangs the lake. Jutting Thoughts, if any, are left alone

To drift as clouds above. Wind is Blowing nearly west to east. Five Or so knots, speed of that lone

Fishing boat puttering around the buoy - Honking of an invisible Canada goose. Did it fall loose from its southbound V?

Lord knows! How and where I have fallen Through these long years, tumbling many Nautical miles with the currents to beach up

Here like a shell, slightly flawed. But this Poem was not to be about memory or Forgetting. There is the whole night for that.

Each word – that one and this too - is a piece Of driftwood I pick up to throw at this Endless pane of clouds. Splash! Farther! Farther!

I egg them on knowing very well, they will Finally wash up somewhere on some shore. I am A blue kingfisher bird, diving and drowning

With them, seeking to come up with, If only occasionally, = A dazzling trashing in my beak.