Poem for Sunday, January 5, 2014

Dreamcatcher

What guards you, then, is a willow hoop:


inches in diameter, webbed with blood-red
yarn, adorned with feathers and beads, first
tied together by Ojibwe hands, brown and

splintered, a stone's shot north of the Great
Lakes. The stretched quadrilaterals, those
subconscious gatekeepers, filter out that

which longs to haunt you. Someday, one will
break tradition and seep through. Worry not;
simply wake up next to me. Feel it shrivel,


like so many things, in the heat of our sun.