Coda to A Book of Dreams

by Jerome Rothenberg

Coda to A Book of Dreams for Robert Kelly

O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself
a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

No world more clear
than what we see
in dreams
nor more amazing,
numbers bursting into
stars & stars
enriching what we learn
when dreaming.

It is no more than this,
to sleep & be
master of the universe,
not to be bound to earth
but gathering a trillion
other worlds,
to count myself
a little king
stepping aside for time.

Nothing is measured
that the mind can fathom
waking. In the way
her body beckons
when you turn to touch her
coming from a black hole
deep in space
& time. We learn to count
the deeper images
& those still deeper,
gods & angels
dancing on a pin. *  * a chip

Before the dream
turns bad
in which a pin* holds * a chip
all we know
& all we fear
I stretch out flat
to the Horizon.
I arch above you
like a lid.
I vanish & return.
My name is Death.

The word extermination
resonates nothing
escapes. The world
itself ends in a time
beyond all time
where time ends
leaving a residue behind
of mindless space
& still more mindless
images the nightmares
that the mind conceals. * * reveals

To run from time
isn’t a choice,
the stars we see
are overwhelming
& block the view
or bring up images
of light & dark,
a flickering
across the map
of time,
the flow of sand
in dreams.

24.ix.17