Three Lines

You’ve dreamed a world way beyond
what can be said.

A world with her,
and three lines of old French
stretching far into the spring sunset
which slides on forever;
finds you searching for breath
halfway up a mountain,
the padded silence of pine trees
suggesting a scene from long ago,
lost in the mist now rolling in
and the stray valleys of snow
clinging on to coldness
before this spreading life.

And at the top, two old birds,
an eagle and an owl,
carved lovingly into the fallen
trees, like shattered echo chambers
letting loose an old sound,
something you have heard
but since forgotten, something
like the snow and the spring
and the nonexistent boundary
between them…

Both lifelike and limited,
those two great birds watch
from fixed wooden eyes,
waiting for another dreamer
to wonder past and wake them,
will them up
into their native element,
no more to grieve, dear heart,
nor fear the seeming-

Here is waking after dreaming.

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