Is It A Dream?

In a dream, all these ways home
spilled upward from an ankle.

Snakes fled from
footfall through the Beggarsticks.

Wanderings flowed
through
waterway shoulders.

And August,
old as ever,
silhouetted
strangers
on horizon.

Young days
filled old shoes,

And pressed themselves
through safety glass
on carnival shores.

In that dream,
that old, old dream,

Soft skin reveals its scars
to the earth
like Moses
given to the reeds,

and I cross over
wide, open roads
in sudden, surprising
leaps.