by Elana Wolff
Any sudden sound at dawn
can throw you, like a shining,
out of sleep. Flap
and then the dream releasing
mist, the
swish of a wing:
Crow
that got out of the murder,
where are you now,
and are you safe?
Who did we move to
under the slumber-sun,
what baritone…
Odd how dreams
can summon flux that
duplicates in day—
like flicker on a wall
beyond a flame, the
stain behind a veil.
I tap into the peep-hole
grey and animate the image:
We’re swaying to
the tune and orchestration.
Less mist—we’d be revealed:
wishing for things we want
to say and write each other
and not be wrong,
our forehead-warmth
like solar
third-eye light.
“Not Be Wrong” is an ekphrastic poem inspired by the painting, Through the Mist, by Beryl Goering
— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 1