Category Archives: Dreams

Violets In His Hand

I took a long walk on the beach,
the one from many other dreams.
I knew the sweep of shore,
the chilly sand and waking sea,
the yawning mist,
it’s always morning here.
I walked alone in my bare feet,
the ocean at my side,
my usual purpose leading me—
a rendezvous, an interlude,
a guided meditation.

In previous dreams
it took me to a lover’s arms,
open as a rose in bloom,
warm as dawn.
He always waited,
ready with a kiss, a fire,
a comfort I could hold
and bring up to my lips.

On this beach no stranger’s face,
no usual deity or angel in disguise
reached for me like an answer to a prayer.
I thought I’d been betrayed,
started to accuse the dream,
“Why have you forsaken me?”
then I felt him tug my sleeve.
I recognized his face,
the innocent and hopeful eyes,
the flush of expectation,
a giggle that he seemed embarrassed by.

This was a different dream.
I knew the little boy so well,
knew the man who had forgotten him.
but not the reasons why.
I felt the punch and pinch of grief, of guilt,
assumed how angry he must be
for all those years he’d waited for a friend,
but no cloud covered him.
Only sunlight in his smile,
a welcome wide as morning sky
and violets in his outstretched hand..
I knew they were for me.


Whether Ebb Or Flow

I pay attention to the clouds
the way that one would sit with sages,
silent as discrimination,
unattached to statements.
I understand that information
gathers with a walk along the beach,
warms or cools, clings and oozes
like the sand that fills
the Universe between my toes
then rinses off the way a dream
just comes and goes.

Whether ebb or flow
it tells me what I see
is never all there is.
Another front,
a new formation
waits behind each wind,
beneath the hat the sun is wearing,
behind the turquoise poet’s eyes
that never blurt their observations.

I can find myself
in their reflection
but I don’t ask for likenesses,
no interpretations
that I can’t or won’t release.
I accept the failure of predictions,
untie all my expectations
and stand ready for the rain,
the clearing,
any clarity that hits the rocks,
the short surprise of time
that carries me
as slowly or as swiftly,
as gently or as grudgingly
as I allow myself to go.

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