
Seasonal Son
In my dream, my son runs into a shed out of March snow where inside, broken colored lights hum off hollow. He gets spooked. A dark tube drops down like a tunnel but he stays in his own freezing breath. Shades haunt the hole dug into frozen dirt, can't follow him further. He works himself deeper & deeper till handsprays of earth suddenly shower him free, shot ash, & up he comes to me out of his life separate from mine, clever & clean as a shoot in the spring.
1 reply on “Seasonal Son”
So poignant.