Night after night
I dream about the mystery,
call it unnamed into my heart,
let it fall like rain behind my eyelids.
I wake up dripping with sweat
but remember nothing.
The mystery is there like certain poems
I never quite understand
or the feeling of anxiety,
my breath held in, instead of released.
It is the way the sunset always looks the same
but then again,
not quite-
perhaps the sky a shade darker than
the night before,
though if I were to name its color,
coral would always come to mind.
The tree in the neighbor’s yard
is the same tree,
but it is different than an hour ago-
a few leaves drop,
the silhouette of the old oak
becomes darker,
and suddenly, its branches
are strange brushstrokes,
a calligraphy I don’t recognize.
Why does the familiar become unfamiliar?
My older self a stranger in this mirror,
a body slowly turning to stone.
Each breath I exhale
the beginning sound
of a word I can’t remember,
the mystery still unknown.

Johanna Ely is Benicia’s current poet laureate.

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