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