this is a dark copy of the midnight’s train
when my face opposed the overhanging steel roof
and images crowded like people ,in the mind,
as the noisy train fan whirred pointlessly.
on the narrow berth there was a bellyful of dreams,
the dream-son who threw the camera in the well-
opposed to the son who would do no such things-
the very glass eye which captured a made up past
the white robed monks came from nowhere
they were not dream stuff ,but real men
with real cloth bags full of worldly possessions
a woman with the hair mop of a daughter in her lap
my recent past is now made up with my camera
my remote past is made up with colored dreams
my camera I have now retrieved from the well
11 Apr
