To B. W. Stokes


Dreamtime,
you call me
down to the grass
by the slow blue lake.
I see the boats sailing by
in the whites of your eyes.

There are shades in the grass
beside your feet.
These are the doorknobs
to the mystery house
and they are
as transparent as glass.

Look deep inside,
down, down, down.
The long snake of time
unwinds....
can you see us
dancing in the wind
like the long limber branches of a tree
our hair whipping like green leaves...
see clouds,
see the vast expanse of sea
see the cliffs perilously close beside us
but our roots go down deep into the earth
which holds us by our long toes.