I wake, slowly, out of a violent dream

In the moments of the slow waking,
I experience som scary, hallucinatory noises;
bangs and thuds,
that are clearly not heard with the ears,
but seem like repeated shadowy memories
of un-sounds
from an uncontrolled fraction of a second before

I think of the young, offensive brat
whom I brought down in the dream,
and whose jacket I cut to shreds with a scissors
before I let him off
with his friends, waiting at some distance

Before daybreak I limp down to the kitchen,
where Anna sits the Sunday through
at the kitchen table,
inspecting her students' preliminary physiotherapist
examinations,
mailed to her in fat envelopes
from LTU; The Luleå Technical University

I interrupt her work
while January darkness still rules the land
for another few hours,
to lie face down on the yoga mat,
having her tape my hurting left heel,
dry and pestered with cracks

I can't easily go back to sleep,
so I reach for Chögyam Trungpa, Vol. II
of his Collected Works,
always liberating and calming,
and after some spare thoughts
I feel like I can let this day rise in me,
like fluoride in swimming baths
or professional dictionaries in public libraries,
my body as insignificant to the room around me
as a turbojet high above the clouds
to the mysterious mycelium under the forest floor
in Saskatchewan