“Where are you from?”
She turned, looking over her shoulder,
and motioned toward the forest.
The forest I was walking toward.
I could not help staring at her
eyes – a blue I have never seen –
ethereal, from some ancient landscape,
from a time lost and forgotten.
The forest looked more alive as the
sky shrunk, the sun scurried
away and the tree tops swayed.
And then I awoke.
Years later I stood on 70th and 5th
a desk jockey with a tie and suite, waiting
for the bus with my coffee cooled
from the November wind.
