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September 1985

 

last night

I had a dream

 

walking down a street

dusty in the fall

while scattered leaves

flutter about

in ceaseless hurry

I see a car

black, fast and lovely

idly floating

about

scarcely nudging leaves

barely lifting dust

gleaming in the sun

circling

circling

endlessly

waiting

and waiting

and turning

and not

turning

heading straight

straight for me

walking in the sun

and coming

faster

and faster

and fast …

 

… and the show ends

and I wake

shaking

sweating coldly

 

on the lunch-hour walk

I recollect the dream

and stop

to laugh

and go on

only a dream

I say

 

but in the distance

far far away

I hear an engine start

 

I wonder if the car is black

 


Last Night
A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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Each New Day A Miracle
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