Untitled
Charles Marecic
I make the real.
You ask how I do it?
I will tell you.
I dream.
Simple as that.
I dream like a fish
sailing beyond the known sea
upon a gray wind
into a multitude of clouds,
but I do not count them;
I have no time for that,
then beyond all clouds that have ever
floated across the sky
and their shadows
into empty blue
that reveals neither up nor down
left nor right
progress nor regress;
that turns to night.
Now I continue on
with remembering
until all I have
left inside is forgetting.
Only then do I begin
to imagine the sea.
