Surrounded by loving hands

in dreams i process my fears, take them for a walk and stand beside them watching tidal surges, snow melt, partridges falling in and out of pear trees, tamping ball and powder into cannon on front line of civil war, tasting seventeen varieties of sauterne, build a tepee out of burnt wood covered in moss with red silk at its heart, mound leaves around base of fruit trees, knit a sweater on bones of a fawn, divide my belongings with them, make plans for springtime vacations, holy mother of god leaning into the wind with her back aligned with mine, villages piling their dead along ridges of clay, telecaster rock star bucket standing elf on sidewalk full of shoppers mirroring his absence with howling notes to weave malachite wishes through leggy heaven, nine jackets reeling in a ghostly room, eight lances plowing henry's field, dutch oven masterpiece theater balanced on top of ballerina's head, goya painting his last stroke prior to sunday's bread and wine, how this knack for calling down gulls for scraps of garbage pales in comparison to my wounded pride, its a logjam teacup bursting into white absence, laughing at holes pilfered through firewood applesauce, dusty relish overnight devouring my helm, my bow, my beam and tiller, taking on water to wash us away, merciful, dutiful, magical, grateful in a thousand directions, in light, darkness, trembling and rest.