The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You, poem 2

The autograph was a dream it was a black cape I took off on the levee
I dream about dresses flying up for a moment I dream about
mussels in the moonlight like castanets the antimacassars drifting off
the couch the hair let down in the evenings I can dream about a stabbed man
shooting dice in a tent I can dream about the legions of angels in the forest
I can dream the harquebusier showing out for Venus fencing with his shadow
cast on the beach the grave the dreams sifted through cold dirt
I can dream about a dead man’s letter and the five dollar bill in his shoe
I can dream about the ship of blind horsemen
that puts out in your sleep that is rigged by spiders
that has a plank everyone must walk
and the dream sweat on the figurehead’s lips like dew like mourning tears
like a poisoned animal like moist silk like slivers of wood
there are so many revolutions light years away
like a catfish winding a trotline up like the emblem of a saint. . .

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