Thursday, July 08, 2010


author’s note:

Dedicated to that which flies about at night.


Every night, the owl ups from my chest
in the junkyard of sleep
to fly out the window
and over the block houses, over
the breezing fields, over the half moon lakes
and breathing trees--

to glide into your room
to settle quietly on your heart
to tap your own owl--the owl
that talks to you all day
while you sleep walk.

Night after night,
our owls soar together
over the great land
to share those truths
we’ve hidden from ourselves.

We save each other’s lives every day–
even though you’re now an empty space
beside me,
even though I’ve finally ceased to feel
that empty space.

I dreamt of you last night as if
recalling a hunting song
from my early days.

I’d forgotten I knew that song.

Though I have distracted myself
from the memory
I know your song still flows
through my veins--
I fear the memory
still has something
to teach me.

Remember when I hicupped
this line?:
“We are each of us door
  knobs to all those
  who would walk through
  the door.”

I walked through
and you walked through
and now only our owls
remain to share the story.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton
dream steps

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