Called Forth

Joshua Hjalmer Lind

My earliest memory is of a time between
last night and this morning, when I dreamed
all ideas are but the languid movement
of chemicals through vast cavities of the brain,

accidents arranged by the divinities
of string theory, quantum uncertainty,
and advertising. This dream synthesized
the disparate world into something

like a public library, but for me alone.
I wandered causeless past columns of books,
touching them with just my fingertips.
The image came again to me throughout the day:

a bench between the pillars,
tall windows onto lush grasses.