Some time ago
- I don't
remember
when -
I
had a
dream in
which I
found
myself
on the other
side of a
five-hundred-year
gap. My family is
there to greet me.
There is
a great tree
woven
branches
in a
half-dome
canopy, park and
amphitheater
all at once,
organic edifice:
dragonflies
hum like murals low
over
dewy carpet-grass
soft as
wool-blend,
air-conditioning
cool
and soft -
tall
buildings,
many rooms.
Glass-gleam light
suggests rainbows
on meticulous interior
design.
My parents show me
around
like a
tourist;
it is
outside
that interests me.
Red walls, glass-pane
fountains,
white walls, minimalist
bedspread:
the city
(whichso formed of
neuron-light dream-paper origami was all the world the rest just
scenery like a painted backdrop)
encased
in
a terrific glass dome,
outside:
an endless desert, flat,
hideous
as the
space
between galaxies; now
the
dream is
just
a memory
of
a memory -
yet
I
still catch myself
marveling
at
how far we will run
from
utopia
(completed 5/3/16)
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