River of Dawns
With wind in my arms
All I’m writing is dreams I can’t remember
You’d know I been knifed by a friend and resurrected
By the way I listen to ravens
And climb them into each dawn
How I saw a fox stand on a deer’s antlers
Digging a den of stars
And helped the deer in too
In this myth of books
I curled up with the sleeping children
And we grew silver-tipped fur of the saviors frosted fire
Of our dreams
Reading palms
But our real cloaks were earth
Were air
Were things you can’t take
You can’t give back
You can’t remember
- John Rock 2019
John Rock grew up on the shores of Lake Michigan in North America and now lives New Mexico's high desert. More poetry and novels at johnrockpoetry.com
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