since I’ve dreamed
anything that was
not nightmare
This spring
with goslings in
the roses, tulips
and crocuses pushing
color thru crystal
ice, I hardly
notice the wood
ducks. I don’t hear
geese in flight.
I used to dream
goose music, scan
black ripples
walking back
from the pond.
Before I photographed
the last light
glowing in dark
woods
the sun gulped.
Just one tree
on fire as
if glowing
from within
