Last night my dreams began to hide mystery.
I cried out in fright. The previous day
I worked so hard to remove the mundane
from each step I took and to look,
to look seriously, with a playfulness
I had not known in years, at the ordinary
things surrounding my life.
To have the world of my imaginings
threatened by the way things are
frightens me. The birds gathering
on snow-covered limbs continue
to sing into the cold no matter
how the light may play across the ground.
Perhaps life is for the birds.