Into the Sun

 

Into the Sun

by Jade Poteat

I night-dream of things I cannot swallow the next morning


The rhythm of the thunder underneath


My chest, at best


A nightmare


At worst, a dream


As I lie under the gleam


Of the steady moon.



And soon 
I’ll be lying awake, awake and dreaming under a sun that’s beaming


In a foreign place


My foreign face and untrained tongue


In a myriad of souls that glisten


And ears that listen



I night-dream of things I cannot swallow the next morning


They tell me it’s time to run–



Out of the gleaming moon,



And into the beaming sun.

 

This photo of a lonely early morning boat on the Ganga River in Allahabad, that most holy of India’s many sacred places, was made in 1984.  And seems to intersect with the spirit of the lovely poem I stumbled across recently.

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