dreaming of caterpillars

my back door opens like a playground swing,

and the cold sunlight momentarily blinds my tearless eyes.

there are starving birds outside in the crisp air

walking up and down a barren slope,

eyeing me.

slowly, i find a bag of sunflower seeds and scatter the ashes of my past.

the birds mourn this early hour,

weeping that we will all be gone too soon;

their hunger is a torment.

they pull their swords and battle to the end.

bright spring is hiding behind a nearby tree,

nude with promise.

my smile remains frozen.

my teeth are all unsheathed.

the birds count how many steps i take,

measuring me.

a dog barks, announcing the arrival of a stalking cat.

the birds take quick communion and make their confessions,

flying after the slightest sound of the approaching menace.

a thrown newspaper hits the nearby street,

and the news is spread out across the known universe,

each word becoming a planet and each planet spinning a story,

defying gravity.

i sit to read, stirring memories like sugar in my warm tea.

there is charm in the act of reading the news,

listening to the passing silence as workers head off to work,

slipping down into their rabbit holes,

their brains full of detective stories,

dreaming of caterpillars.

along the eastern horizon, a great cry arises

and i turn on a dime.

my slippers are untied but my wrists are free of scars.

a soft wind blows and my imagination tumbles like a dry leaf;

i become a dreamer,

noble and tragic.

a young child tries to awaken me,

but i'm walking on the greenest grass,

eating the juiciest peach in the world,

sipping wine alongside my lover

with a thirst impossible to quench.