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yet another grief dream

the new year begins in a crowded aquarium. 

i know this place 

though i’ve never been  

and already i am done with it. 

too many eyes, don’t know 

who wants what from who, only 

that they are joy-bright 

and go right through me. i am here, 

right here, though late, though 

i am counting down, mouth 

moving as i move, push 

through the bodies. i took 

every detour i could 

and so failed to recognise 

the main road 

when it presented itself to me 

like a sentence, so 

consider this an explanation 

(narrative, thematic, coherent) 

for why i am here. here, 

i see no face i recognise. 

i have seen every face before 

and already i am done with this. 

done with my brain’s pitiful howling 

as i tug at its clamped jaws 

every body i push through in my search is dying. 

yes, i am searching. 

i dreamed i was alone. 

beyond a word is an essence of the thing 

i was that thing 

i could only get to it through a dream. 

let me explain. i am here because 

i looked across the crevasse of us 

and stepped back. a hot wind  

rattled the glass i became 

because i wanted you i wanted 

you to love  

every shivering pane of me 

perfectly and forever 

every body i push through in my search is dying 

arms hooked, lips locked, laughing and laughing 

i lean too far over the railing  

this new-old year, i moved back to the sea 

to apply myself with great fervour 

to the task of witness: the way 

one watches killer whales 

batting seals, the body 

fighting vertigo 

before the soul-flight 

in the dream 

some version of you 

was there, cross-legged 

mouth making sounds 

at someone i could not see. 

you did not see me. i ran 

into a room, dimmed, 

with fewer visitors, all 

murmuring, clumped 

pale bodies, all turned 

towards one massive tank. 

a single sweep of lucite 

floor to ceiling. it was 

so clear. it was 

so empty. a figure points 

into the blue glow, tracks 

off to the right, and down, down. 

i could not see what they saw. 

i press my face against the tank. 

i am as big as the tank. 

i am bigger than the bay. 

ocean gyres play hot potato 

with my old anguish. 

with my new-old anguish. 

it swells while i am not looking. 

it is as big as a planet. 

at the edge of the crowd 

the exit sign is a gas giant 

all bluster and no substance. 

it swallows me whole.