When I was younger, my favorite dream
was to pick a waterlily. They lay across the swaying lake
like bananas sliced on oatmeal, fitting into each other
like locks, teeth. Trash and ghosts of oil
wrapped around their legs like clingy children.
I thought a green circle
would make a perfect pet. Imagined suspending it from the ceiling,
as if my bedroom was a lake, watching it float
like a UFO. I stared into the greengreengreen
like a crystal ball
and wondered what it would taste like.
This is a response to At The Mouth of Birdsong by Barbara Young. https://redwolfjournal.wordpress.com/2014/05/27/barbara-young/