and all meet again anyway.
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Dennis J. Schwesinger | We meet again
A gorgon haled me when
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 strode 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
red and yellow light as if
sunup and sunset merged.
My eyes grew globular, bigger,
saw more, my hands skinny, whiter,
fingers rounded like bowling pins
at their ends and only three.
I like to sleep and dream.
It gives me perspective
over loss and grief.
We are at most moments here
Moon magazine
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