When I think
of connection,
I find myself
in a cattailed stream
full of croaking life
and healing mud and
swooping shadows cast
by red-winged blackbirds.

Our books and bikes
dumped on the bank,
blue sky pouring into
our eyes, we shared
wistful daydreams,
exalted night dreams,
musing on meanings
of steering a boat with red sails
through a forest, or dancing
with dolphins in the temple
of Knossos, which was hidden
behind the high school
under the football field
and you had to ask Aretha
for the key.

Letting go of all logic
as if it were lead, we wove
our own wings from our dreams
and went looking for edges
of mind-cliffs to leap from.
We yearned to soar, we rode fast,
our long hair flying behind us,
west to the orchards, to fill our baskets
with fallen black walnuts
for carrot cakes and muslin dyes,        
hot dust in our nostrils,
Joni Mitchell on our lips.

We'd ride until the hills turned silhouette,
and wonder why the world felt strange,
if this was really where we belonged
or if we'd taken a wrong turn
in some flying dream
and landed here,
only to wake up
at any moment
in a world
someplace else.

Sometimes hard things
had to be said, like,
That guy David you were dating?
I think we're dating now.
It just kind of happened.
You said you were totally over him,
right?
In your silence the branches
above us looked scarred
and painful like broken
bones that had grown
back at twisted angles.
But the sunflowers nodded
forgivingly, delivering
their sun god's message
resounding across the open sky:
All is in motion,
don't worry, all changes –
life's the meandering stream
through time, the cattails
and mud, the shadows
of blackbirds, you sharing
your dreams, your friendship,
this moment – everything
opens outwards,
don't worry, I've got you,
just follow the stream
of your days.