It goes like this.

In a dream I want everything perfect.

No howling at my door. Nothing distressed or repelled,

and, you know, I take measure as if I were verified.

 

Then I read “East of Eden” in middle school

and felt shaken to the core.

Dismayed by a rawness that closed the door to certain dreams

and lets others in.

 

Yes, I heard the teacher say those who complete

the assignment early can turn in a summary for extra credit.

I clearly took out a pen to start, but somehow hadn’t finished.

 

There are still cherry blossoms at dawn, by the number,

and this is key, behind some doors is a child admiring

all the wonders, behind another one, a centered adult,

who is sad or happy as a tide, coming in, going out at dusk.

 

How gold flashes the waning light and we are among

strangers on a journey of wanderings and wants.

Behind one a child, behind the other an adult,

together sorting things out on the shore of the world

washing over.

 

 

Stephen Cipot

Garden City Park