Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Passing through, 2:18 a.m.


How strange to see my father and mother
sitting at our old breakfast table,

the curtain held aside by my grandson
to reveal homemade jam.

Looking out they know me, know me not,
know me, know me not,

and then the sound of horses,
a vision of them leaping vineyard rows,

a dream within a dream,
the scent of dust,

my feet upon
the road.


18 comments:

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

your dreams are so special and speaking

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Laura.

Jan said...

What a lovely dream, William. So simple, and uncomplicated and filled with some of the people you love. I've always said that you even dream as the wonderful writer that you are.

William Michaelian said...

So nice of you, Jan. Thank you.

DeniseSCARAMAI said...

Your parents, grandson, sounds, smells, memories and real findings - but everything is a dream within a dream.
So beautiful!

William Michaelian said...

Hi, Denise — thank you!

vazambam (Vassilis Zambaras) said...

Knowing you, dear William, after reading this poem, I can only say "I must be dreaming!"

William Michaelian said...

Well, old friend, I’d be the last person to suggest otherwise, as, thanks to you, I seem to be in the same glad state myself.

Bitch said...

At least, this was a good dream..

Hugs, my dear!!!

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Monika!

Elliot MacLeod-Michael said...

I liked the almost-but-not-quite-revelatory nature of this a lot.

longdayhotshower.blogspot.com

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Elliot. Such are dreams, at least such are many of mine.

Transcend Designs said...

I love how you paint with words my friend...

Beautiful...


All the best William!

William Michaelian said...

My best to you too, Brad! Thanks, and it’s great to hear from you.

erin said...

your gentle way of revealing we are all behind the curtain with our fingers in the jam jars, always appealing to not only the senses, but pressing upon our linear notion of time.))

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Like a shoe that’s come untied. The shoe is still there, the lace, the foot. The hunger.

Momo Luna said...

This is a lurid dream. Vivid. I can smell the dust, i can feel the sun upon my face.

William Michaelian said...

Momo Luna, thanks very much.