Monday, January 08, 2007

My crystal ball is bearded





Kenny advised early on not to fall
in love with the dreamers and I scoffed.
He failed to add the asterisks and details
but I soon found the dreamers were the ones
with the hearts of gypsies, legs
of wanderers. And yet, they provide long
glances into the future (a dirty trick if
there ever was one). I thought I was
a dreamer, too, that a double shot
of romantics on the hunt for one another
might mean a match.

Instead, I found the pragmatic in me
the realist who yearned for who he shouldn't have.
Dark hair attached to an accent and warm eyes
made for a fantasy, the one who felt too true
to be good proved instincts right. The substitute
is offered up tonight, now that she is gone
out of my lovesight.

I choose to fall in love with dreams.

I had one in my awaketime last week
and in it I dug for sand dollars with my feet
on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.
I collected seashells, seven plucked
from the millions being saved for
seven-year-olds with empty buckets.
It was 82 degrees in November.
I stole a touch of sunburn for safe keeping.
Entered broken and left three days later,
cast in the brand new and newly focused.

And, while dreams are never entirely safe,
they never lie when it’s past time to do so,
when the real feelings get sucker punched
and I’m left with my thumb out again
folding myself gently now
into the security that accompanies
friends.

- D. Moody

2 comments:

plainoldsarah said...

ha! i'm so pleased with myself - i totally knew this poem was yours. not sure if it was the subject matter that gave it away or your style. i like to think it was your style. i like the end about folidng yourself. it sounds very comforting and healing.

Sherpa said...

very nice. I especially liked the imagery--concise and not superfluous.

If that's a tiny bit autobiographical it hit me for the second time today how much we might be alike.

We're very different people, right? (I just need the assurance)