There is no end but that coincidence
has a part in it, and that this is one
meaning of association.
I tried to tell you that
as you lay sleeping, drugged
by the air-conditioner, frozen
by the song of cicadas
and the hum of the machinery;
and I waited for you to awaken.
Dreamless you stir my conscience
blast me out of my reverie
like a distant tornado.
Silent, as if in a kind of movie,
moves toward me,
sweeps away the penumbra
of irrelevant objects and objections:
recollections of a Dorothy
going one way,
and of an Alice in another:
Oz, green as the Islands,
Kings and Queens in a clatter.
So now I too lie entranced,
cocooned in a sort of barbiturate
by a disfigurement of meaning,
I hold a timer in my hand, and pull
the pins. One after another. Is it a dream,
Or are you upon me, fiercely,
in a titanic explosion of feeling?
This environment is as stimulating
as it is said to be dangerous to health and to happiness.
Shutters keep out both light and the lightning;
Doors are oxymorons, iron maidens,
&/0r cool caretakers of togetherness.
That is the magic of a mixed bag
ingredients: It will be; it will be,
not as we permit,
but as our needs require.