Transformations

TRANSFORMATIONS

Last night while we raged
in blankets of sleep,

Scattering shreds of ourselves
through boardrooms and city streets,

The wind wrapped its coaxing cloak
around the branches of trees

And whispered, “Come with me.”

While we twisted
in our cotton shrouds

And dived beneath the day
like sailors on the way

To Davy Jones's locker,
the wind took planters by the hand

And led into the field,
leaving roots and stems strewn

Like dance cards dropped on chairs
by twirling girls.

This morning, the yard is transformed
into a labyrinth of scattered things --

Like the edges of our dreams,
like the blankets and cloaks

We've forgotten on the morning floor.

And we find our way through the day,
grasping the saving string of dreams

To dodge the scattered limbs
the world so often places

In our way.