In Dreams

From hoof and horn your dreams are born on days of winter longing.

And in the summer’s secret corners where dragonflies rest on hot rocks by the water.

You sit and think about worlds beyond the one you are fated to, making up the details as your mind wanders.

Trusted canine by your side, hiding from the eyes of elders and others.

Never speak of places that you go early in the mornings before the fog lifts.

Those places belong to no one.

And do not talk of the night and the eyes of the owl that knows what you long for.

Your haunted thoughts might be misunderstood for madness.

Your need for solitude mistaken for something out of sorts with the souls around you.

Better to pull the covers over your head and pretend to be underground.

Go to the coyote for answers and to the horse for understanding.

Keep company with cats and listen to the hum of their purring songs.

Somewhere a feast awaits you and you are no longer the one being hunted.