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Dreams are like this 

Our ornithology teacher
is looking for a burrowing owl
on a rocky ridge near Clam Beach.
He scrambles up the wash of stones
and scans the crevices
between the boulders,
searching for a flutter of feathers.

Mist dims the view.
Rain begins to fall.
Still no sign
of the burrowing owl,
save for a few pellets
scattered across the slope.

With heavy hearts,
the class begins
to walk back to the bus.

I stay standing in the rain,
binoculars pressed to my eyes.
I know you’re out there somewhere,

and someday, I will find you.

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Amy Fontaine

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