DREAM BOOK
Its leaves are bay laurel
Words the pollen of the rose
Count me in
Don’t put the key in the wrong latch
Don’t forget to tie a string
Tell me the dream book
Once my mother marred it with her sighs
My brother stole it
My father drank his whiskey
Will tomorrrow come
If tales leak into margins
If ink is both sea and sky
If nothing opens
Will pollen lose its breath
And will the leaves all turn to ash
CONTRARIWISE, Susan Terris (Time Being Books, 2008)
photo: Jeremy Thornton