Peter Halley & Pietro Roccasalva: The Awakening

About

it a dream
or the memory of a dream

or
the man to my left whispers
the man who is made of wood

color of carbon
same as me
is talking, hesitating, singing

a dream that came down from a mountain
or rose up from the sky
or did this apparition come up from a mountain
or descend from a gold and turquoise inlaid sky

this black dome we are hauling
yes, you and I and he
the triangle of pronouns

is a ribbed parachute
that never crumples
a form of prayer
down which rain

if such a thing exists
slides
we hold our breath
the air we breathe

brimming with fine white sand
coming from all directions

including the road on which we are traveling
wind dictates this poem
white sand writes it down
with a finger or a stick

but its words are like a blind camel
pointing toward
the dream stops being a dream
it is winter the sand is snow

the man on my right whispers
this is not a dream
but the shadow it casts across the camel’s path
cannot be seen by anyone who can see

the desire to be aware of the air on your neck
and the geometry of that desire
dictates this poem

a hand of glass or lead writes it down
there are three men accompanying the camel
pulling this black cart deeper into the poem

this apparition you can reach out and almost touch
this arrangement of sounds ringing in your head
this almost song

John Yau