What A Dream Can Tell

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What A Dream Can Tell

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Last night I held a muse

under the sheets.

 

For an hour I waited

like a hunter after a prized prey.

 

He was beside me, tucked inside

his male shell.

 

He would not touch my breast

or back. I waited between

 

war & sleep for his shadow

to ignite. In my mind there were

 

archways made of silver & thorns,

& horses with pumped-up shoulders

 

racing aimlessly to & fro.

I looked for him among the pastures wild

 

& in the oceans of living octopi. I looked

behind a sniveling child, into the eyes

 

of a great afternoon. I held my muse but

for a blind hour. I could not keep him.

 

I could not love with all my heart.

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Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst

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For Every Rain Cover 5

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Dalhousie Review, Volume 71, Issue 4”, 1991/1992

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Dalhousie 1

Dalhousie 2

Dalhousie

https://ojs.library.dal.ca/dalhousiereview/issue/view/179

https://ojs.library.dal.ca/dalhousiereview/article/view/dr714grayhurst/2259

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

https://allisongrayhurst.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/what-a-dream-can-tell.m4a

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Somewhere Falling has a richness of imagery and an intensity of emotion rare in contemporary poetry. Drawn in sharp outlines of light and darkness, and rich shades of colour, with a deep sense of loss and longing and the possibility of salvation, this is an unusual book by a gifted young poet. Grayhurst’s voice is one to which we should continue to pay attention.” — Maggie Helwig, author of Apocalypse Jazz and Eating Glass.

“Responsibility and passion don’t often go together, especially in the work of a young poet. Allison Grayhurst combines them in audacious ways. Somewhere Falling is a grave, yet sensuous book.” – Mark Abley, author of Glasburyon and Blue Sand, Blue Moon.

“Biting into the clouds and bones of desire and devotion, love and grief, Allison Grayhurst basks the reader, with breathtaking eloquence, in an elixir of words. Like lace, the elegance is revealed by what isn’t said. This is stunning poetry.” – Angela Hryniuk, author of no visual scars.

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