Another Meeting by the Tree

Shoulder blade, I land upon
Shuffle my old body back to golden dawn
Lights off, lights on

Turn the page, fill the glass
A rainy day that's traveling slower than the past
I've drowned too fast
Let's float upon this golden age, our last

I dreamt the ghost of Harry
Entered my room in a fog
Opened his paternal, withered hand,
Whispered, "When you awake you will be alone at sea
Hands blackened by the frozen wind, at the bow of a clipper, crying."

I rocked for hours in bed
Until the warning of late morning light
I lit a smoke off of the range
Opened the garden door and spoke your name
"We're not dreaming anymore."

I ate one egg and walked into the forest
It was a spring day
High sun had dried wet leaves on the path
When I approached the hole in the ancient sycamore
Where I often sat in my torment
I noticed there was a door, clasped shut
The hinges were made of wrought iron
And in the center was a painting of a sailing ship
My hand felt a pain

I lit a smoke and something strange
Opened the wooden door and spoke my name
"You're not living anymore."