By Pavel Chichikiv
The taxi dreamed about last night
Came up the street at dawn
No burning chariot, nor did Elijah
See a stolid shape like this, gliding,
Roof-light fixed, an orange halo
On a car of life in shadows moving,
What this speckled age deserves –
Machinery between two stony curbs
A driver beckons, peering at his watch
And waits impatiently for what has long been fixed
I dreamed a peace and saw the sinner weep
Repentently, though not in his, my sleep –
Rhyming sleep retains some usefulness
To make amends, to listen and confess;
Rhymed with every sight and all forgotten sound,
Sleep will fall like yarrow on the ground,
Reveal who will be thrown and who will throw:
Everything no one can know is known
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)