DRY CRIK Journal

One day we awake in the machinery
watching gear heads turn wheels,
to the hum that we believe is silence –

constant and steady as an old ranch
generator between oil changes, between
repairs, and we leave it behind us

for the light, for the power, for the
juice we can make on our own.
We awake and wander off, far from

that dependable sound, for the flutter
of unseen wings – and when we sleep,
let dreams breathe in the arms of trees.

                                        for Liacita