Provincetown / 3

Like Theodore Roethke, "I dream of journeys repeatedly." Most of the time, these journeys end in disaster or are impeded by obstacles impossible to overcome. I cross bridges: they are full of holes and fall apart. They have huge gaps I cannot jump. I climb steps: they end. They break apart and sway perilously. Doors will not open.

I have dreamed about Provincetown, too. I see a road that circles around. Inside the circle is a monument. Trees. I am lost.

As far as the real Provincetown: I am hoping to find myself there.

from The Far Field
by Theodore Roethke

I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel,
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate show and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut,
Where the car stalls,
Churning in a snowdrift
Until the headlights darken. ...

The lost self changes,
Turning toward the sea,
A sea-shape turning around, --
As old man with his feet before the fire,
In robes of green, in garments of adieu. ...

All finite things reveal infinitude:
The mountain with its singular bright shade
Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow,
The after-light upon ice-burdened pines;
Odor of basswood on the mountain-slope,
A scent beloved of bees;
Silence of water above a sunken tree:
The pure serene of memory in one man, --
A ripple widening from a single stone
Winding around the waters of the world.