I can even tell the details of my dreams.
House ghosts cry for teddy bear pancakes
cinnamon sugar syrup,
My husband reads to me – a gallery opening,
David Brooks’ column,
the latest news for March madness.
Hums, rustles, yawns.
I warm my hands around the coffee mug and look out
at the feeder.
Squirrels scurry for corn;
finches titter and nudge for seeds.
I wish for spring.