dreams are a phoenix

it is almost too much trouble to write

to extract ideas and emotions from the brain

or from the heart, if i still have one

the concrete steps were cool in the shade yesterday

as i lay looking at swordfish clouds

scudding past in what we call a summer-blue sky

a blue so beautiful and intense it almost hurt

black walnut leaves recalled palm trees gently swaying

though what the chattering squirrels were shelling

rapidly was much smaller than a cocoanut

one prematurely yellow leaf, gently released

dove and tumbled toward earth, a living

flake of gold under the midday sun

babies were born and old men have died

youthful dreams unfulfilled but content

to yield up the ghost in the twilight

and i am watching, sitting in shade

and in sun by turns, listening, lamenting

for the precious words that don’t

want to come