A single nightmare becomes a clever ring
allowing leather strips to slide,
tightly around the traveling body.
I scrub my face and pack lunches
the same bird is on the wire
He eats something I can’t see.
The nightmare was of food, clothing and incantations.
The body changes, needs a rubber sheath
sewn to leather with ash
from a cold fire pit.
The view from the kitchen window
amazes me again. Oak, palm and fir
lean their arms south like brothers.
Adjusted for the low, low sky and impatience.
I’m in my place and I know what to do.
I drop a handful of leaves into
boiling water and we all drink.
A bowl between mountains, space
to call one another by names
watching our own hands,
flesh pulsing under the straps.
Sorted with certainty from the morning air.