In the dream the game
has begun but I don’t

care The ball feels tiny
in my hands like a toy

I would give my son
who does not seem to exist

but who I wish was watching
from the bleachers alongside

my Sunday school teacher
who told me I was going to hell

because I am making
everything the goal bending

to me as though in prayer my dead
grandfather somehow my coach

and he is crying because I can
dunk the ball despite the fact

that I seem to be dressed in
the suit I wore to his funeral

but my team does not mind
I rebound and pass the ball

downcourt with my eyes
closed as though in a dream

which this could never be
even though wheat has begun

to grow along the baseline
and around the edges of the court

and the large brown horses
we keep for my father’s friend Joe

have wandered into the gym which is
now a barn and tiny sticks of hay

are floating down from the rafters
like the feathers of long skinny birds

which are now flying through the
open windows and I worry it will be

impossible to make an outside
shot with so many things in the air

but then I notice the walls
and the ceiling have vanished

we are playing on an outdoor
court both teams and all the coaches

and fans are now in my driveway
somewhere in Oklahoma

and I begin to realize that
I will never make it back to

my real life because my shoes
have grown into the cement

and I cannot move anything
it is as though I am a statue

of myself in a place that is
and is not my home

and suddenly everyone is
gone and I am alone

in the middle of a field
except for all of the dead