Her Dreams


Her Dreams

Her Dreams

She awakes as beautiful
as she was when she shut
her eyes decades before,
and strolls a wooden deck,
barefoot – her sweatshirt,
hangs below baby doll

Her eyes half closed
filled with sleep; she recalls
A dream as she pushes long
black hair from her
fair complication.

Her focus between a cluster
of pine trees; shadows from
a moon – out toward the lake
where her dreams take her,
recalling a winter four hundred
years ago

It was on this land
her mother gave birth, unable
to make it to their old farm –
a child’s nakedness touched
the earth, first.

Dreams have shown her the
way, night after night as
night turns to day she remains
unseen by others, untouched
by strangers who occupy
the hill.


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Angie's Diary