Out of Dreams


Out of Dreams



            Like clay brick eroded

by rain, thoughts sear

my better part, calling me

to the altar, to kneel and

discipline these fantastical wanderings.

            Like an egg yolk pierced, I spill

my substance flat across the frying pan.

            I live in the time just before dawn.

I curse the crocodile but praise

its authority. The clock strikes seven

and I have lost my sparrow for good.

I have waited for the change, wished myself more

than this life, making a remedy from imagination.

            I will walk the straight line as an experiment, walk

to feel like a buttercup flower tied to the forest floor –

satisfied with its display of tiny splendor, at peace

with its place amongst the aged trees.



© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst





First published in “Outlaw Poetry” October 2018





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