I dreamed I was running

I dreamed that I was running. It felt good,

uphill a little on a path around the wood.

My legs were strong, my heart didn’t beat the way

a watch counts out the nervous pulse of day.

Where was I going? Or who running from?

Was I running alone in a Hopperscape,

warm, not hot, easing to a teasing horizon,

or fleeing shadows of lurking threats?

The vision, the feeling, evaporate.

I dreamed that I was running, terrified.

Our shelter had been shattered that night,

explosions and predators and treachery,

and only splintered walls and rusting beams to hide us.

Who was attacking? Or who protecting

from missiles and experimental aircraft

raining innovative destruction through azure air?

The vision, the feeling, evaporate

except the fleeting memory of running.

Cynthia G. Wagner, May 2, 2022