Far Too Far Away

Too whimiscal? Perhaps my dreams are taking me far too far away.

I’ll Weave a Poem

Today, I’ll weave a poem,
a pocket from grass reaching
above the pond
where cool air softens

shadows and ushers
a bullfrog’s meditations
into the sun. I’ll stuff it with lost treasures:
a butterfly’s flight, the concerns

of house cats, heat that swaddles
a dragon’s heart. Then, I’ll stitch
the pocket closed, lay it beneath
my head under a tree that relishes,

old songs, that remembers its name,
and I’ll sleep until this paper browns,
crinkles with age, when I’m needed
to weave another poem.

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4 thoughts on “Far Too Far Away

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