ABOVE THE ARCH

Falling asleep on the plane
I dreamt I was on a plane.
The land below was scuffed and scarred,
without trees or habitation,
bearing only the marks of what seemed to be
a retreating acid tide. It was all

very clear. We would travel
for a thousand miles before encountering
the first palisaded fort, the first town,

and each water-hole would be poisoned.
We would throw ourselves down in the mud with
  animals,
with starved animals whose eyes blinked
without hostility or friendship. Mirrors, jewels -

beautiful and cold,
...