Remembering the inward dreams that don’t go away

Remembering the inward dreams that don’t go away
The small silences of early morning….
The wanderer in me now
Among the warrior uncles of my youth….

The porch light of those summers in Oklahoma bathed in circling moths

Shimmering as heat over the wheat fields…

Shimmering in hard life and peyote moons….

A grey heron….

Standing on one leg

In the still spirited waters

Of twelve mile point…..

Foggia ghetto
April 30,19