The River at Wolf

An excerpt from the collection of poetry from the book:

Spring and Its Flowers
Then, Tell me your fantasies, you siad.
And I: OK; I'm lying in bed, asleep, a child,
and you, you're sitting int he rocker there, knitting,
like a mother bear. And you:
Can I be the one in the bed, too?
and you in the chair there, knitting?

That February you dreamed your old father said, Spring
this year and its flowers
will cost you eighteen thougsand dollars.
Waking up we wished we could have lived together
in a green and blue walled garden forever...
We didn't know
we were so close
to the world's mouth, the drunk bear's ashy thing.