we grow into the bones of our dreams
slowly
in daylight we may not notice
their distinctive curved and oh so subtle landscape
we may not notice we are there
alive in the marrow
inside the curves
visible only in soft periferal focus
the kind of vision that awakens
when you walk at twilight
the kind urban dwellers
are often starved for
we grow into the bones of our dreams
slowly
and perhaps we awaken to see
we never left
—Lorena Wolfman
during the night
my dreams
make powerful poems
dimensions of shadow and memory
open up
dead ancestors
lie in their graves in plain sight
dear lost friends
who have buried our friendship
laugh
with my mother
who is just there
between realms
of friendship and death
the earth is freshly turned
all night
the digging
the turning
continues
by dawn a whole new body
has been born
and I have stepped into
a new day
— Lorena
if I were to ask the land
here where the weather is everything
here where we are so close to the sun
why it lured me here
I know it would say
because
here you see the sun rise over the eastern hills
dawn arrives with birdsong and grace
here in the springtime the sun sets in the cleft between hills
while these breasts of earth are still rocky and dry
and you can never know when the rain will come
here you learn gratitude
for each twilight
for each bit of tree dappled shade
for learning to walk between the spines
of nopales organos garambullos cardones
and a multitud of prickly fellow travelers of all kind
whose names you have never learned
and even for those you have
here a droplet is never taken foregranted
cannot be taken foregranted
and yet still somewhere underground
rivers flow
here you learn to smell their waters with your skin
you are but a transient form on the landscape
here you learn to walk
—Lorena Wolfman
