Drift

I hear, in the echo of distant crow caws,

a time link, a lacuna

that takes me quickly back east

to early summer mornings,

my vision now split

in the double exposure

so often engendered

when twilight comes late

and dream drifts

could call it morning

till I come back, startled,

to here and now,

watching my perceptions

settle like fallen petals.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 17, 2017