Eyes Closed, I Dream

City crowds can move as smoothly as threads through silk.

Buildings rise to heights even light dares to tread. Ask the dead.

For some, everything in the countryside is replaceable.

Who needs iron-infused creeks where stoplights shine red?

I once cared about diffused summer light, under myrtle trees,

away from the city. I’d measure the degrees of dampness

from the river water in my hair on my ambles from my family’s

sandbar through the fields to the garden gate that was always open.

Deer and rabbits can’t hurt a fence laid down to be fixed. The afternoon

of my life is far from the glow of moonlight off the edges of leaves

in their sleep caught between the stars and the breeze, hidden bees,

careful caterpillars, and songs between trees. Eyes closed, I dream.