A Monarch Butterfly
in a Field of Dreams

Smokey Robinson fluffed my pillow last night
and a thousand fingers caressed me.
I dreamed of Howler monkeys in slow motion,
falling from Brazil like acorns
and cherry pits from eyes that blossom
I dreamed of milking venomous serpents in Sri Lanka.
I discovered a cure for what ails the human condition.
Buddhas wrapped me with their loving-kindness.
I embodied harmlessness.

In Vancouver, I was a child dragged away
by a starving cougar.
My mother won the battle and saved me, bleeding.
She took me in her arms and applied
pressure to my wounds.
I am now a rough diamond, a hard-soft black coal.
I am not afraid of cats but hunger frightens me
into the daylight.

I did all these things and others I don’t quite remember,
yet the other side of my bed was untouched,
for I hadn’t crossed the line
between fantasies.

In your dreams
I am the flowering Jacaranda.
You are my purple-blue corolla.

A Monarch butterfly lands on my coffee cup,
I drink slowly. The coffee is hot and smells
of sex in the morning.