The Place You Imagine

You don't go to the place you imagine,
You can't.

Because you have crossed a threshold of years,
a threshold of what makes
the place you imagine possible.

All kinds of wild threads are cast
haphazard across the world.
The strong dust is settling
but in the wind there is something more befuddling.

The place you imagine
has holes in it
but it is not a fake place;
Though you have slept there
the bed there
is not for you.

You can visit the place
You see it in your mind's eye
even as it swiftly slips in front of you.
You imagine wild vistas and terraces,
out of longing, out of dust.

You don't go there
because it makes a fool of you,
and because its heart's center,
the one with the bed,
the one with the gold,
is gone.