Nov 1, 2007
Shard of a poem inspired by a dream
The first time I cried,
there were no tears.
You spoke to me from a dream,
and told me to shave my beard.
My beard? My strength?
I woke up and went swimming in the lake,
cold and dark in late September,
Michaelmas.
Inside, a painting on the wall,
provenance unknown, ugly
but from a distance decent.
My hair wet, I watched the leaves outside
and waited for the rain.
The cat on the wide windowsill
turned her head as if to speak,
as if she sensed my mouth about to open,
and the forest quiet kept my self to a minimum.
One Comment, Comment or Ping
Reply to “Shard of a poem inspired by a dream”
You must be logged in to post a comment.