The Sound of Dreams

You know the way sound

carries across a field

at a park

where whistles signal

and balls bounce hollow

on ground and plastic

on paddles

and there are 30 conversations

"My daughter"

"Let's have dinner together"

"Hahahah"

a woman laughs deep...then a child

"Loook at meee"

and 12 geese rise and honk and wheel

and a little princess with a unicorn horn

scampers singlemindedly

with a singing sound

near the caw of crows

and there is the small squeak

of a swing's chains

until mom says "off"

and in the thunder of hundreds

of soccer cleats and running shoes

hitting turf and grass

there is also the rattle

of training wheels on gravel

and the drizzle of distant laughter

and above it all

there is a tall metal tower

all grey 

but with a painted word

"Dream"

and you wonder

about the sound of dreams

and try to remember

if in all

the journeys one has taken

through the moments 

of subconscious memory

if within all that  jumbled time

when before comes after

thoughts twist

dissolve and reassemble

hours into instants

if all that falling

through squinted light

tangled in uncertainty

visited by visions

really takes place

in a space of silence

where language is not sound

of whistles or wheels

of birds or words

but simply symbol

and silent sign of some 

unresolved and unforgotten 

time

◄ The Visit

Tired ►

Comments

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Mae Foreman

Sun 3rd Nov 2019 18:16

Exquisite Adam! Wonderful! Honestly I would very much like to see all these poems of yours with the single worded titles bound together in a poetic anthology. I love this and all the ones before and probably all the next! Never stop writing! Kudos!?


Mae

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