by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
a nation of oceans slumbers, night contracts
like a black lung
leaves only space enough for this particular dream
Here in the night, there’s you
In the daytime, too
We don’t sleep well. There’s always something
out there beyond the sand dunes
across the oceans. In the dark,
a screen flickers and
we begin the Beguine again,
or Oscar Levant hunches over the piano
in an old movie about Paris
in a time before the insistence of the blues
before Zanax for depression,
Ambien for insomnia,
before this time of bodies come back
at night, disappeared
into the ground, folded
flags put away
quietly, we dream of Oscar Levant
and Gene Kelly alive
again, waving his arms,
tapping
through Paris
Wendy Taylor Carlisle lives in Texarkana, Texas. Her most recent publications: Windhover, Cider Press Review, 2River, and Ghoti Magazine. Her book, Reading Berryman to the Dog was published by Jacaranda Press (2000).