This is called "Love Is a Dream of Return."
And it's a kind of a drama poem in a sense in which three
people are involved.
Love is a dream of return for John and Linda.
One of us reaches inside looking for God.
Another limps on his hands and knees
and still another collects birds.
This is where we live.
And what can we do here chained like this to ourselves.
Well, the long hauls and inevitable doors open,
continue to open like shutters into the light,
into our own backyards where we pray.
And we can accept this, listening
at our various positions of silence
to the great heart beating where it is.
An our hourglass maps no one seems to explore but ourselves.
But the families of birds start up
from all directions struggling toward the center.
One by one, we grasp the ankles of angels.
We imagine in our separate dreams of return
them as 150 lovers flying.
So we must hold on.
We are all touching, climbing further out of ourselves
to the blue acres where love is.
This is the coming home, the chain dance
through the crowded sky.
The new lovers soaring, singing old 'round.
That's from a whole period of fantasy poems, things
that never come true.