You may link to my poem here.

Perchance to Dream

To fly beyond the horizon
is a young man’s dream,
a memory of when we were birds
and soared on silver sunlight.

Now I fly through night
a shadow, disembodied
but in the shape of a man
with fingers spread to the wind.

There are days I wish
I could be that wind, stirring
heart-shaped aspen leaves
or skimming the skin of cool waters,

or else be the leaf
for one glorious summer
and feel the soft touch of sunlight
and the slow sad fading to gold.

Morning light warms black feathers
and then they take flight,

dark premonitions scattering
on the day’s errant winds.

Words spill like autumn leaves.
Snakes bask in the heat

of the compost pile.
Crows are ubiquitous,

they can stand the cold.
I know they’ll come home

to roost on bare limbs in a tree
gaunt as a saint in winter.

You use it up greedily
without regarding the tube,
and spit.

Comes a day when you
roll up the spent living
to see what remains.

Now measure, and savor,
each minty morning after
another death-taste night.

She’s had her eye on the bird
for months, finally got the little fucker.

I loved you but you rejected
the only two things I had to offer.

Honey Badger don’t care.
He goes right on eating the cobra.