DREAMED VILLANELLE
You dream of ships until your own creaking wakes
you. Are you the yawning, cargoless hold?
No maps exist here. Sail your long mistake.
You shudder. Sleep returns. The dream won’t break
but wavers like a tattered sail. You’re cold
in this dream. Ships slip to sea. Watch their wakes
and dream ports only seen in books—bright plates
etched by blind artists. Sail away. Unfold
blank maps. Waters here make sailors mistake
stars for signals. There are no songs. You wait
for mermaids, for serpents. Your mother told
stories like dreams of ships creaking. Don’t wake
now. Look past flat horizons to one place
you’ll never reach—where oceans glow gold
and maps don’t reach—sailors stories mistake
night work for living lies, salt licks for cake.
Listen. Your body sings old wood and bold
dreams. These lost ships creak at anchor. You’ll wake
when mapless tides turn by the moon’s mistake.
Mark J. Mitchell worked in hospital kitchens, fast food, retail wine and spirits, conventions, tourism, and warehouses. He has also been a working poet for almost 50 years. He is the author of five full-length collections, and six chapbooks. His latest collection is Something To Be from Pski’s Porch Publishing. He is fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka, Dante, and his wife, activist Joan Juster. He lives in San Francisco. He can be found reading his poetry here: https://www.youtube.com/@markj.mitchell4351.
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