Wild Things in a Dream

In the middle of the day,
I dream up things:
a half-frozen duck
swims around and around
solid cold to his breast—
O, it's burning! the dark pond,
the wild ice forming! If he stops,
he dies, and it's so bitter
his webs ache, his feathers sting.
A thin fox waits on shore,
one paw lifted, blazing hungry
as a brush fire in the wind.
And at first light,
I come out to see the duck
turning to ice.
And I've got no way
to reach him, each feather
purls white as a bone, and my face
burns bitter pink.

The fox and I dream you up
in the middle of the day,
and we eat together
bad food bitter pink and bone
and brown, the duck a little flame
dying down
while the hungry pond
deepens.

Copyright © 2004 Heather Ross Miller All rights reserved
from New Letters
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission