Sunday, October 10, 2010

Greensward Sunrise

Impossibilities seen
Ahead of dawn
On a raw day:
An elegant ghost
Trailing across
Lawn toward
A wagon on
Slow gray wheels.
Geese untuck their heads,
Silent, not scared.
These are not spectres
Of the dead but
Dreams hauled away,
Cleared for children
Waking, children who
Will shortly wake
And come to play.


  1. I'm glad I met with you and Norma while I was up there in Sac'to before coming back to this lovely poem. Yes, these are the things that dreams are made of. In my mind's eye I can imagine what Norma's illustration of it might be....

  2. Thanks Will,

    Good to see you too. Just opened Cactus Willie's Pinot Envy --excellent and, of course, aged to perfection. Glad we found some back-road restaurants around the capital of close, if not comparable, excellence. Home in one piece then?


  3. Your words are beautifully insightful, Geo. Words, well chosen, with their depth and nuances of meanings, and the sounds of them which must be spoken in whispers, are your tools now. A peace comes over me as I read them.

    I wanted to also thank you for your kind comment on my blog a few days ago.