Two takes it took to capture the dream like scene
of a white sky, snow covered ground;
a charcoal sketch of a single tree on a gessoed canvas 
in nothing but its bare bones. 
A winter’s nap. 

Take, lay hold of, reach for, steal
time like that tree adding a ring to its loot
thieving our breaths.
Shift, slip into sleep. 
Add one thousand plums to the tree of your dreams 
for the rest is merely a resistance 
to listening to the small noises, voices
that speak when you face the dark. 
                        

I gathered wild roses all blushed 
bull thistles with regal purple crowns 
fine green nettles  
ordinary dandelions gone to seed 
tried to fix them 
rein them into a semblance of a bouquet 
but I had no control over this suffering mix. 
 
All I could do was hold tight to their contrariness 
the glory, the healing, the wishes  
the thorns, the prickles, the ugliness, the sting 
pain mixed with beauty
sharing as every tear does 
a blossom of insight, a seed planted
an answer that blows in the wind.