ArticlesPoemsPhotographs

Dreamcatcher

Los Angeles, California, USA
 | 
2015

That white feather that fell off your dreamcatcher,
I kept it close until you made it clear you didn't want me in your dream
and that I had no more to catch.

Fine.

I roll the window down at ninety miles per hour and release my grip,
letting the memory of you spin in the wind then hit the ground
and get run over by a thousand turning wheels.

Goodbye.