I've been seeing
That old hawk
In some very strange places.

Feathers askew

Too tired
To fly above the storm

My messenger
Has something to say

But he is too weary
To spill it
Just now

let us be dreamers
shall we?
yes
dreamers of dreams
dreams that we
make  
come to be

for no one
who thought
good things
nor held out
their hands

and

loved
(lived)

the way

dreamers

do

could possibly
look back
wishing

wishing
they had dared
to dream
just one more dream

wishing they
had done
just one
more thing

to make their
dreams
their reality

Evenings like these
black as a keyhole

crossing a shadow cast
on the side of the road

where the ground sleeps
dreaming of smooth stones

and nights without love
earning a dangerous living

like a breath under water
choked on the mystery

of cornbread
and a farmer's daughter

I wake up thirsty
hungry and alone.

You may find me barefoot
With my hair stuck up
In a mess on
The back of my head.

You may find me
Covered in dirt
And sweat
And other grossness.

You won't ever
Find me startled.

You can't sneak up on
A woman like me.