The Dinner Party

One dream imagined the mess
Everything made everything
As an infinite hamper

Of apparently dirty
Laundry, underclothes mostly,
That turned out, viewed more closely,

To be heaps of clean linen,
Billowing bedsheets on lines
Strung on windy green prairie,

Then exploding into birds
And settling in the tall grass,
Linens to the horizon

Needing to be collected
One at a time, each one drawn
Through a small ring of the mind,

A girdled fold of bright thought,
Perfect for table setting.
By the time the dream was done,

Thousands of places were set,
Each for a diner equipped
With clean cloth to wipe your mouth.