A dream.
The outline of a green hill,
your red hair plastered against it.
And you wrestled around
Took a spot (right there right there)
As I let words plunge into the weeds.

And lately I’ve been considering birds
and the sounds tiny feet make.
White powder; I’ve never smelled it.
I’ve never woken up and comforted someone.
Not someone so fragile,
so loud when protesting.

But to interrupt whispered notes
and entangled fingers
and hearts, with wailing.
With the assembling of small beds
and circles under eyes.

No. I let my dream fly.
I poured the green hill
Into the tub and it
slipped down down into the drain.
But my words will linger in the air
Hissing and cracking when you’re near.

that was full of incredible images: I loved the dream going down the drain and the entangled fingers.

great job

Thank you!

I agree with Betty. Great imagery.

Thanks! Sorry for saying it so late

Vast depth and flow. You described one instance with many faces. Nice.