Oneironauts


In my sister’s dream redemption comes
in the form of a pick-up truck.
In mine, my father, dead for decades,

drives a yellow bus to the shore
where bilingual fish explain
all secret knowledge.

In mother’s dream Christ appeared to her
after the manner of Yahweh disclosing
his backside to Moses,

but it didn’t involve vehicles –
just a tree, a red flannel shirt,
and dungarees. Cars are omens

in my wife’s dreams; their portent
depending upon make, model, mileage,
Kelly Blue Book value, but above all –

who is behind the wheel of this latest model
augury? Who drives my sister’s pick-up
while she pulls the walking wounded

over the tailgate into safety?
And who could possibly imagine my surprise
when the folding door hissed open

in my dream, and the driver of the bus
was my dad, finally come to take me
to the place where all the real answers are.