*
Dreams... reaped... strewn...
came the sun: pinwheel of
fervent firmament ─ all
fire.
Sheaf beneath a wild
pear, my head propped to
dream, eyes open:
expanse.
Now I glean landscapes:
stones, thorns, my bones ache
and I bend ─ hands trembling
as if to snatch treasures:
tassel.
One more day? Another seed?
Interred in clods? Or heart?
A deal?: four oregano sprigs?
Flower.
One flower, enough ─ or perhaps
I might fill my pockets
with two fists of poppies:
to sleep.
Fogs with no dream tremens: