Originally hailing from the backwaters of San Jose, CA, Don Raymond now lives in the tiny, deer-haunted hamlet of Alturas, CA, where he works as an accountant, because his guidance counselors never warned him about that sort of thing. He spends his free time studying Egyptology, baking, and mediating the Machiavellian feline politics of his household. You can read more of his work at Amarillo Bay, Prime Number, and Eye to the Telescope.
The Dreamer
As one among night’s vast
fast-emptied chambers might
chance upon a stairway:
stark, earth-sinking steps
descending into darkness
imminent below each step –
solemn in immensity, thick
with discarded purpose:
silent, high-walled rooms,
the house’s dark four-chambered
heart through which we nightly
seek this vision’s central mystery:
by sleep’s sideways logic only
certain actions may be taken –
we must empty room-filling
oceans with a spoon or stop
to count each fallen button
until the fruitless search itself
replaces our once firm intention –
we leave empty-handed, with
a frisson of cryptic meaning
still tingling on our lips,
defined by empty spaces curled
round that fading memory.
By day the floor seems solid. but
there is a liquid heart below us.
The Field Guide Poetry Magazine 