Carlos Castaneda

I rise from the rear of the bus

                                          my mission

begun

            one where I find out what it was

            after it’s done

Bench in a plaza

I sit next to a lizard

discoursing on Dylan’s discography:

he doesn’t keep singing if it isn’t true

            I circle, ponder. A shadow

warming my back summons my eye to

the wizard standing behind us streaming

dark energy at me, steady lipless conversation

at the speed of light

                                     but I’m distracted –

the wizard’s ignoring the lizard! I say            

     and you remember the lizard?

gesture as if the wizard hasn’t noticed the

lizard, hoping the lizard’s feeling aren’t hurt

the lizard and wizard don’t wink or wiggle a

hair.

         I study the lizard’s face

                                                it separates

like a plate lifts from a dinner table

the lizard’s face is a mask

                                          I understand:

The wizards distracts with his right hand

while the left hand does his business