The bag of dreams
In my bag of dreams,
I searched for a lost child
in a city of steep streets
and shadowed arches,
and ran with a hundred
commuters across a highway.
I lost my coat and my wallet
and my pens and my keys,
and I could not get to where
I was supposed to be.
I missed the last train
and could not find a taxi
and was myself lost in silent
streets lit by sodium lamps.
In the soft, damp darkness,
there were watchers,
I could feel them.
And then, in Athens, there was
an explosion. Beyond the balcony
of our hotel, I could see flames.
But the girl with glasses did not see them.
She slept undisturbed in my bed,
in her own bag of dreams.
And in her bag of dreams, she gave me
books and whispered softly: “Learn.”