and sleep catches you by surprise
a river tumbles your head and mine
along with thousands of syllables
from all poets’ names
we tumble and bobble with the river surface
stealing logs from a cabin
shingles from roofs
and splash uproariously against bridge abutments
and startle awake
stare at the clock until the numbers focus
thirty-three minutes into a new day
we force ourselves back into sleep
and that same river bobbles us on down
this time we steal a tricycle from a porch
the door off a barn
heck we even steal a cow out of a barnyard
and bash the syllables and our heads
against stones this time
and startle awake again
perform the same miracle on the clock numbers
and it's one thirty-eight
submerge ourselves again
with a false promise of a dreamless sleep
and join that river again
calling out mixtures of poets' names’ parts
as we tumble and hurl along what used to be the river's banks
stealing fence posts
car parts
even whole cars
and tearing bridges down
startle awake again
two-oh-eight
that time we don't even have to work
the river laps up and includes us once again
and that time we flow more gently if still as swiftly
stealing from warehouses along the river's edge
and boats left tethered still in or along the river
a barge joins our uproarious dance
and helps us batter bridges down
and once again the startle
this time at three-thirty-four
we groan and mutter and complain
and close our eyes
and this time find ourselves in a Roman aqueduct
the flooded river still bobbling syllables and heads
and pieces stolen in our mad hurray downhill
its almost quiet in the cacophony
with nothing to crash against
we flow and flow
and somehow bounce into a Roman amphitheater
our heads have recollected our whole bodies
we stare around us at the crowd
faux-expecting to find at least one face we know
about one-third up the semicircular array
a wide step permits a slave auction or maybe four
with howls of complaints from those too poor to play
we are too far away to understand the bids or auctioneers
but entertain ourselves watching
until a man in a mask walks out on the main stage
oh! he speaks in what we hear as a normal voice
but we can understand each syllable
each word
as he introduces
a poet whose work we should know
a poet whose list of awards and prizes
embarrass us for never having heard
his or her name
not that we remember
the poet walks out onto the stage
wearing the simple robes of Roman times
which we secretly know were not as simple as they looked
he or she speaks
and again we hear each syllable and word
and in some way are caught up again
in that mad flood of syllables
as he or she enchant us
with images and metaphors
with meanings we didn't know we knew
with insights we had never before had
with tears we never else would have shed
and we wake up
alone in that amphitheater
a ruin now
the skeleton of an aqueduct nearby
feeling enwizened and abandoned
a little like one of those boats we stole
suspended now in a tree
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