nothing between me and sky

in the dream
there were houses and apartment buildings
on flimsy-looking hydraulics
that shouldn’t have been on hydraulics
we were in the bay (joolie and i)
and walked past a body that was receiving
some attention because
the body was no longer a living one
we look through the crew of people
tending to this body to see a face
turned to leather
i am so upset about emory
(2 or 3 or 4 years old)
throwing things at people
with disregard and unawareness
that i lose it
crying and howling
at my limit with frustration
at not being able to get through
_______
nothing between me and sky
i wake up in the orchard
to birds that look like arrows
flinging themselves across
sunrise cloudscape panorama in handfuls
some so close i hear the
swiff swiff of their wings
cutting through air
as the talcum powder moon
(full)
lowers itself into lightening horizon
_______
smell of espresso and
trish’s venga venga
transporting us both back to

south america
while i sip my frothed coffee milk
minus the sweet
(which really is the thing that makes it coffee milk)
_______

like being pregnant trish says
of what it’s like to
strut around with that
apple harvest bag
brimming
_______

the particular feeling of
apple tree branchlings
grabbing hold of
my hair
as i pluck fruits under the trees and
climb ladders and their limbs
to reach those dangling above
_______

we apple pick hard and
lunch/snack hard and
almost-nap hard
under a golden delicious tree
using harvest bags flattened out
as blankets
_______

cloud scraps that
look like sanskrit
float-drifting
into tadpole turning serpent turning
dragon/dinosaur
saying something about
ferociousness

_______

if you can fillet a fish
you can stuff a bag into a bag
trish, flabergasted, insists
(in reference to packing up
a sleeping bag)
while trish and i dissasemble tents
in the middle of the orchard
where emory howls and
cole rolls up her sleeping pad
_______

we wave goodbye
to the faded apple sign
tacked to a utility pole

_______

the way trish and i laugh about me
laying down the law from the front seat
about turning down the voice volume
not long after i engage the
window-lock not long after i say
i can’t have this about the
fishing poles hovering
above my head
_______
dreams where i’m driving and i can’t open my eyes
dreams where i’m driving but i can’t reach the
wheel or the pedals because i’m stuck in the back seat
dreams where i’m driving and... i share the variations
from the driver’s seat while heading west
with a dirty windshield
into the blaze of not-yet-setting sun
_______

one deer
galloping across county highway
then later a pair
darting across gravel road then
a bit later a trio

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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