Reading Poetry Instead of Sleeping

The Dream
by Imogene Bolls
from Advice for the Climb

This is the place I was not ready
to leave.

I lifted my feet, lighter and lighter,
up the mountain,

up where a buck in velvet hung
curious in aspen,

up where a red-tailed hawk lifted
and caught wind.

I walked until my thoughts became
like clouds.

I rested among paintbrush and lupine
and penstemon.

Far off people shouted, calling
my name.

I called back, but my mouth
let no sound.

Through the high ponderosa only
the wind came.