Jane Reichhold
Charles B. Dickson

Dawn's faint wind
awakening under closed eyes
a shiver of pictures

out of a dream of unicorns
into a moonflower fragrance

you as Lancelot
and she your Guienevere

high above Stonehenge
a glitter of eagles

moonshadows carve
letters deep in the portal
a sculpture garden

now swiftly the grace
of a cougar leaping

a May morning
of prisms and plum bloom
wild canaries

covering cabin walls
papered with old calendars

antebellum attic
cobwebs cocoon
a flintlock rifle

scattering spilled war medals
the cat pounces on a mouse

and then a long long silence
after taps is played

mass graves in the desert
wind-blown sand whispers prayers

where Huguenots knelt
vast spread of the water oaks
shading the chapel

winter moon in the mistletoe
dark voices of man and maid

a romp with Robin
in Sherwood Forest
bees in the glade

bodies powdered with pollen
from a bed of wildflowers

after their revel
among hemlocks and trillium:
poison ivy

cold on his fingers
the cup handed to Socrates

a circle
the roundness of living
a drop

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