Today's poem is by Suphil Lee Park

Aerial View of Maze
       

When you die dreaming, the rest of the world
        branches off into a dream where you are,
like a god, imaginary. You limp around
        Times Square deserted but for chariot horses.
They follow you sisterly until you unbraid
        each one's mane, then unravel into dusk.
Alone in the dark, a mutt whittles himself
        down to bees. Borrow the last leg of his to sit.
The city, too, often imagined itself empty.
        This is what happens to waiting at long last.
You remember having lived once or twice
        as if you're made of secondhand sweaters.
When you try to think up someone dear
        in detail, your memory, as every morning, fails
to dream. It's hard to suffer in one sitting,
        you realize. Hence the wait also needs to evolve.
The air thickens with bees. This is the other side
        of the dream in which everyone alive goes on.
Here you are so this can't be the dream. Nor can
        you be trapped. Here you stagger across a constellation
of hindsights, the word flight yet to ever cross
        your mind. Here your vision loses, then regains
focus as a night ocean flays itself with a blade
        of distant light.

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Copyright © 2023 Suphil Lee Park All rights reserved
from The Greensboro Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission