Words for Cup and Water

Stepping through the dream wall
President Lincoln cradles his cat named Bob.

Droplets of rain shine on the Hemlock tip, which
reached my bedroom window just this year.

Old beveled mirrors still shimmer
no matter what they reflect,
drugstore, library, bookshop.

All carry magazines, hopes and dreams
one long loop running down,
streamlets in the mist.

I make a nest with my hands and
try to capture the mood of the mountain.

The President says, “Don’t bother,
we have work to do.”

Instead, Bob washes, framed by evening light.
We all pause for a moment,

watch a female white-rumped Harrier glide
golden over marshy fields opening

before our eyes. Sleeves rolled up,
possibilities begin to appear nearby.