The Tall Country
There are these dreams you
never want to wake from.
Last night you sat in a theatre,
watching a movie, marveling at Spain,
unrolling before your eyes, a memory
of the Pyranees you never wanted
to leave, dream mountain images,
dream lakes more impossibly
grandiose and gorgeous than anything
in waking life. Then, starring
in your own movie, the one the Id
spins for your nightly entrapment,
there was no transition: you
did not step into the screen, as in
a Woody Allen imagining.
There was even a landmark
the mind holds to station in a later
story, so that in the unknown
there's something known. The mind
muddying reality, as if reality
wasn't muddy enough. The mind
up to its old tricks: layering comfort
in the tall country so you never want
to leave. Your last leave taking,
maybe something like that.
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