Every night in 2020
I dreamed of Pestilence on his pale horse.
Sometimes just its hoofbeats--
ta-tump, ta-tump, heartbeats
on a monitor in the ICU.
Sometimes its whinny, harsh
as the wheeze of laboring lungs.
Some nights he turned and showed me
the plague doctor’s mask, long beak
stuffed with aromatic herbs.
Sometimes he shows me a skull.
Sometimes the face of someone I love.
It’s never really over, he says.
Next time instead of horse’s hooves
we’ll hear swine-hooves, a bird-cry, monkey chatter
and we’ll recognize the rider
when he’s standing at the bedside
and he says Too late.
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
1 comment:
Chilling images!
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