Friday, April 1, 2022


It is warm, and I throw off
the white sheet that floats
like a sail on a dark ocean.

I push back the curtain
and open the window
on this moon-driven night

and float onto a branch.
The neighborhood is quiet,
and I fly to the top rail

of an iron fence
and then to a telephone line
before perching on the edge

of a tilted concrete birdbath
where I drink a few warm drops of dew.
I realize that I am dreaming of being a man,

one of those two-legged creatures
who drags himself along the sidewalk
and has no real connection

to the sky or the rain or the grass,
but lumbers into one of the large wooden nests

that have windows that sometimes open like eyes
on warm moon-driven nights.

~William Hammett

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