It must be something in the air
Just before I woke up, in a dream
the word “Obama” floats through my thoughts
or perhaps it is spoken by others
not in debate or analysis or even a name.
Just the word, a sound
like people sighing
or a runaway metaphor from a poem
what the Metro sounds like when it pulls into a station.
I have heard lots of words spoken, read
here at this festival, but in my dream
this was just another recurring sound
a shifting connotation in a forest of contexts
this word that found its way
into my early morning dreams.
It must be something in the air.