I dreamt I was plowing through time—
sticky stuff
now holding me back
now pulling me forward
faster than I wanted to go.
All the while I seemed trapped,
longing to cease my plowing
to extricate myself
from all this treacherous substance—
to find an unimpeded
and unhurried progress.
Yet it was just a matter of waking.
There was never any substance, really,
to be plowed through.
When I woke, I found
only eternity
flowing about me
buoying me up on its silver waves
so that I went effortlessly
and with song.
