searching for the unfindable

in the dream, i was missing trains and
losing kids in my care and
getting locked out and scrambling
through my mess of stuff (that resembled the waking life mess of stuff in the field first aid backpack) searching for the unfindable tickets
the 6something a.m. eastern screech
whinnying/cooing into the just-lightening day
soothing out the rough edges
that the dream gave me as souveneirs
welcome aboard i say to dottie
who’s stripping cane in sorghum field 3a
and also ironing out their wild (compared to the rest of us) sleeping habits
thought about you today dad says and tells me
the title of the book that the milwaukee county sailing club
is reading for a book group: the death and life of the great lakes
you couldn’t just go to the stre and buy paint unless you belonged
to the artist group
my mom tells me about a polish film
she saw with her polish speakers group – 
the film was based on a true story of life under communism after world war two
may the force be with you dad says
about my upcoming
and later: your body needs rest, it heals while you’re sleeping –
go get some healthy sleep
when the rain begins bucketing
i can’t keep from worry-wondering about our guests in tents
while i write away under a roof
held up by four walls
the yellow-gold glow
candlelight by which i write (and ironically text)
in – it is another one of those evenings, the kind where i am compelled to not turn on a light