Jonny Teklit

Dream

the tendrils of the wisteria trees
hang low, lavender petals spinning down

to earth where they are stomped into the dirt
or accidentally swallowed

by the herd of elk making their way to the lake
to bathe and drink after days of travel,

of losing their young to the hungry wolves
that have, by this point, memorized their route,

and when the herd arrives, the alpha male,
antlers sprouting from its head like a tree

adorned in purple petals, will see me,
a stupid fawn, kneeling at the shoreline,

scooping mud with a garden spade, trying
to honor all the dead that look like me.