Perilology

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I am a perilologist – my dreamlife makes this sure:

for every crisis that besets, I always find the cure.

Perilology requires loving messes: shoving each

malign Medusa-squirming spilling killing tress

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into benign collective flow: making obduracy turn

from red to green to go. As a perilologist, I suavely

dive through mental tar: panic-blizzards turn out

not to be exactly what, awake, one thinks they are.

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With somnolent assuredness, I wield my muscled

soul, re-coalesce the Universe into a blessèd whole.

Oh, lovely lessons of the purple greeny deep! Thanks,

Big Bang, for so resourcefully insisting upon sleep.

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