AFTER A CALM DAY

in which you hoped to
but didn’t do much,
dreams can be terrible.
Someone under a streetlight
demands sex,
nakedly raging.
 A woman no one’s introduced
coerces you into a walk—
she’s amiable,
but the way soon steepens
so you can’t really hear her. 
You unlatch a gate
(thank goodness, a garden)
but she hangs herself. 
Of course the people in dreams
are always you
wanting to be put out of your misery.
But the dream world’s huge.
You’re the snoring,
dreamless neighbors too
and the phone not dialing 911.
You’re the way, the rage,
the rope, the garden.

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