Can you meet me on the still water of my dreams
In your blue canoe in the washed out August mid-
day? Will my turning to the paddle falls of your oars
make you real? The caddis flies dancing on the water, playing chicken
with the surface tension can’t be made up. I can’t imagine those 256 flies, can I?
I didn’t. They were there.
The gauze of dreams is the tease, all webby and over-exposed in this August heat.
Close your eyes, drop your oars, and row, Jimmy, row.
It’s morning and we gotta go.
Bend, OR 2006, Nikon D100