The Same and the Other

in each hand a disparate dream: in all dreams

                                                                           another far

            too quiet: delirium

                                     of the mask and God behind it: paradise

had no winter like

                          this: this

            is the one where the infant sleeps in the dirt

                                                                                the sleep

of a dreamless mind so far from home

                                                           he no longer resembles anyone:

            his mother, thrown

                                        down, hunted, sick 

with fear, sleeps next to him among the filth of animals: his father

              watches (the imperative

                                                       that love

—not solace—

                      demands), for there is no room for another

              sleeper: the desert will keep

                                                         bringing its mirage,

no doubt:

             the child will walk in his shimmering garden, says

   

the wilderness, if you just get across:

                                                          motes in the light rise and rest:

             sole face left (remember you are dust)

                                                                       of our first lost image:

Copyright © 2019 by Gina Franco. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 3, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.