Arriving

Dozing into the arrival

at our land, passing between

cliffs of clouds and blue banked sky,

needed desired rain

and needed desired sun

and the question of which

would attend our arrival

Eyes closed, the landscape still rolled out,

the narration borrowed

from some other world:

“They grasped each other 

by their suppositions,”

I heard, before opening my eyes

The sun shone through the rain,

mist rose up from the road

and blew across. The dream

was also worth watching

after the long trundle,

blurring the question

of where, exactly,

we were arriving.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 18, 2017