I had a dream last night

and you were in it

but not naturally.

I think I willed you

into focus

from memories

of those Winter telephone calls

once abundant.

Spirits would sweat

through telephone pores

in the form of whispers

while blistered ears

hungered for the warmth

of the following breath.

But now what's left

is a shade of December.

Recollections of a weather

once set

to a skyline so clear,

a tickling breeze.

A slumberjack,

somnambunently treading through the woods

of his mind,

chopping and harvesting

what memory bark remains

instead of just

planting new trees.

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Jessica R's picture

You had me wondering all day what this poem was about. And you didn't disappoint. Love it! Especially the last stanza, very creative.