The guests were sitting at their tables
on the lawn, when suddenly I saw them rise
in a line and approach a door that opened
onto a field of clover and rye.
I was in awe of them, the way they stood
in the shadow of the door and sipped their wine.
The way they laughed and cried.
I watched a Cessna hum across the sky
as something that was there for a while
in the form of pure idea, as something
that would burn one day like a straw.
I saw the endless line move along, move along,
pulling me in like a cloud, forgetting everything
as they passed beneath the high dark beam
of the door and were gone.