a poem about a poem (for Ne----)

i dreamt i found a poem
about a song
about a story
about a river
that wasn't really a river
but a secret about all rivers
and stories
and songs
and poems

past the overgrown hedge maze
in the courtyard outside the ruined library
i found it under the roots of a tree
in the garden where no one is supposed to be

it was written in hieroglyphs
and thumbprints in chimney soot
and forgotten letters that have no shapes
and backwards misspellings in orange crayon

i looked at it confused
i turned it over and over in my hands
i carried it out of the garden
past the wilds
past the ends of the roads
past the badlands dry
to the place where the heather grows on the riverbank
and i stood with my feet in the water
and i started to read

when i finished i ran
fast as dreaming feet can carry
fast to the places where people live in my dreams

i ran to Polyphemus
the cyclops at sea
and i held out the poem about the song about the story about the river
held it out for him to see
and i asked
"have you ever read anything so perfect?"
and Polyphemus looked only out to sea
and pulled his nets up from the waters
and never looked

i ran to Eve
camped outside the garden gate
weeping in her patience
and i read from the poem about the song about the story about the river
read it out for her to hear
and i asked
"have you ever heard anything so perfect?"
and Eve bawled in her grief
and balled her fists at her ears
and never listened

i thought to run to the Huntress
in the part of the woods that is always moonlit
but as i ran i saw someone else on the road
i saw the valkyrie with flowers in her hair
and i rushed up to her side and pressed into her hand the poem
about the song
about the story
about the river
and i said
"take this here, this perfect thing --
it is a poem to read
and a song to sing
and a story to tell
about a river that is not a river but a secret about many things!"

and she looked at it confused
and she turned it over and over in her hands
and she looked baffled into my shining excitement
and she said
"it is a very perfect thing, i'm sure"
and she smiled and continued her way down the road
and i continued on mine the other direction

as i walked the wind changed
i stopped on the road
i turned to watch her go
wondering what she would do with my perfect thing
and i saw it drop from her hand and roll away in the changing wind
and it rolled to the sand and into the sea

and before i could turn my head back to look at her
the dream was over
the morning was come
and awake i could no longer remember the poem
about the song
about the story
about the river that was not a river

but a secret about all rivers

and stories


and songs



and poems




and dreams





and secrets