In my dream there is a man, my father,
in his dream there is an open road,
a blue-black line stretching out
to the long gray seam of the horizon,
the unknown beyond the known.
In both our dreams, where everything is possible,
we drive, side by side, to the end of that road.
Dreamland
19 Saturday Mar 2022
Posted in poems
Poetry on the run 
This calls to mind timelessness, or absence of time, or maybe nonexistence of time. And the way we tend to “become” our parents–our fathers or our mothers–sometimes against our will. But aligned with free will, and the ability to both be resigned to the fact, and to choose, and to love ourselves and them at the same time, hopefully with success.
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You are right about the tension between resignation and the choice, between us and them. I struggle still to write about my parents in a meaningful way. This poem came out of my reading “The Trestle” by Raymond Carver. He has so much to say about his relationship with his father. Because of circumstances I have very little I can say with any sense of surety, it is all very dreamlike.
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