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Sunday, September 15, 2013

Field (Autism)

In the dream I dig away endless fields of dandelions.

A voice asks who you'd be without them.

I picture a future where the weeds never were, where you marry and grow a son to love as I have.

I meet you there, a future never planted and you're taller than I imagined, stronger than your father, and you tell me not to worry, to make healing tea from forgotten flowers, to dance as the weightless pappus born to trust.

You say a single flower can set another hundred free.

I hold you in the middle of the golden lion's teeth, priest's crowns leaning with invisible winds, then I wake in your blue room, toy trains and cars scattered, your small hand in mine in the only field we know.