American Tourist Dreams of Home

The cat nosed up to the night outside
The window.

Across the street the hounds howled
Through the linked fence.

I dreamt of returning home, groceries
Bound my wrists, freeways spread across

The horizon, smooth as pearls.
But I could not

Remember which home was mine, who,
If anyone, was expecting me

And these plastic sacks of plums, pears,
And whole wheat flour.

The steering wheel, in someone else’s hands
Turned through greenways, looped

On the backs of highways and stalled out
At a red light. I rolled down the car’s window

To see if here, between the tamale vendors
And telephone poles overgrown with the hands

Of morning glories, if here, I smelled
Familiar and if my feet

like a pack of stable Horses
might lead me home.