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Opus at Fifty

By Joseph Milosch

I dreamed I was running
in a field with a girl
dressed in light shorts.
Her tanned legs flickered
and our feet flashed faster
than echoes of falling footsteps
as flies became fireworks,
imitating centuries of supernovas.

I dreamed we were running
in a field
without any flowers
or clover blossoms.
We ran on grass
Kentucky Blue Grass.

We ran through a field of line dancers.
They wore white tennis shoes
like Billy “White Shoes” Johnson.
The people laughed silently;
their teeth became fireflies
as their head bobbed to the beat.

Running through a field
and between people line dancing,
my hand lightly brushed
the backside of a brunette woman.
It was an accident. Somewhere
a rainbow leaped to hear darkness fall.

I dreamed I was running with a girl
through people line dancing in a field.
There was silence. It was early evening,
later than dusk.
The wind threw the fragrance
of millet and poppy.

I dreamed I was running on my toes
I stepped lightly like I was seventeen.
The air blew in my hair.

In my hair!

Posted in Poetry

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