Dennis J. Schwesinger | WE MEET AGAIN


A gorgon haled me as I
walked across the pasture.
It had eaten a cow I loved,
asked me what I thought
I might do about it.
I shrugged.
He was a giant gorgon
and swaggered away jerking
side to side with laughter.

We dream sometimes of
things we can’t remember:
a strange place, another lifetime.
I never loved a cow and
Don’t believe in gorgons.
But it was real and in
reds and yellows as if
sunup and sunset coalesced.

My eyes grew rounder, bigger,
saw more, my hands skinny, whiter,
fingers domed like bowling pins
and only three.

I like to sleep and dream.
It gives me perspective
over loss and grief.
We are at most moments here
and all meet again anyway.


Dennis W. Schwesinger

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