Friday, April 11, 2014

Rain / Dream: 14



Rain / Dream: 14

Against the grain of wood, gold, or stone,
a gritty wind sweeps off the Cascades,
across foothills, down to bunchgrass.
You're an imaginary creature to Mr. Coyote,
hardly noticed by crow or spring gopher.
You take rest on a shelf of volcanic rock.
You peel a handful of aluminum foil...
sliced cow on soggy raisin bread.
You drowse... a version of no-self.

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