For Jason

I dreamed I rode upon the famous bus
That scuds along the interstate highway
That never takes up a space in port
Like the albatross at home in flight
The bus at home on the highway
But not its passengers
I knew myself to be an alien

I knew myself away from home
Unimaginably distant in outer space
Such that the term outer space
Seemed wholly inadequate
For my presence here on the determinate bus
And I felt elated for the privilege
To examine the fine details within

While the external world swept by
Meaning nothing or less to me
So absorbed was I with minute particulars
Within the hurtling enclosure
It was then that I realized
That I dreamed again of transit
The alien the scudding the hurtling

My mother was there with me
Along with one or two of my kids
They like me fixed upon interiority
So I determined to play the dream again
Since I knew myself to be dreaming
And among the throngs of details
There must have been many that I had missed

But I miscalculated
For rewinding to the beginning
I saw there was no beginning
I saw that the bus always sped one way
Without origin or destination
And I always an alien
Who failed to register the precious details