In my dreams.

In My Dreams

   I used to be a bird, a robin
   to be exact, a steady-eyed
   gatherer who sees in the tiniest
   of things--a twist of twine,
   a slip of string--sweet sweet home.

   I once believed that dreams
   were echoes of truth, voices
   of a past when people searched
   for wisdom in strong questions:

   the pastoral scene cloaked
   in silence and slow time, the
   poet's refusal to allow words
   to say what no words can say.

   That was before my cat died
   and before I grew old
   and before you walked out on me
   and kept walking
   walking

Billie Travalini

Wilmington University