Birds of the last three days:
Bird, or bat, or winged creature of the nighttime who was imprisoned, and tried to escape, from her bedroom and closet and hall, and from which – cowed by recent and ominous tales of bat attacks – she hid under her blankets.
Cardinals in Velta’s back yard who alight in her lilac bushes and from there venture to the bird feeder filled with sunflower seeds.
Solitary hawk skimming above Route 61.
Clouds of birds rising like confetti from the trees along Route 61, parting suddenly above the highway as if startled by something, and rejoining on the other side.
Bird of her own self in the dream that comes too rarely, arms outstretched like wings, carrying her up and over the mountain, swooping into the valley below.
ok, how many of my dreams have been cheating on me with you? i’m beginning to feel a little un-special here.