Dimensionless Contentments

You all are such loose, baggy monsters,
Albeit undersized, short-lived ones,

Each of you small collections, about
The scope, duration, and dimensions

Of last night’s last sharp wake-you-up dream,
Each a handful of moments content,

Each composed on directions from Poe,
As if his only directions were

Anything that could be kept in mind
Together. Nothing happens in you,

And nothing much chirps all around you.
You were on the road. You were swimming.

You were in the ghost courtyard of winds.
You were wayside. You were staring out

One streaked window of a rented house,
Rain-streaked windows of a battered car.

You got out. You walked a little while,
As far as you could, up the bright road.