Dreams are like this
By Amy Fontaine
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.
Nothing.
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.
more from the author
-
Forgiveness
- Feb 19, 2015
-
Ghosts
- Dec 5, 2013
-
The Fungus
- Jul 11, 2013
- More »
Latest in Poetry
Readers also liked…
-
There Was An Old Woman Who Worked in the SHU
- Mar 31, 2016
-
For Lavish Reynolds
- Sep 29, 2016
