Among the poppies we wandered far
till twilight hazed us all in dreams.
We reached the brambles at morning’s gleam
and stopped at forest’s edge to try the fruit—
The taste of sorrow, the tear of thorns—
And now that silver time has cast me all in tears
I long to know, who was that golden soul
I sojourned with?  Why came we here?
And did we set it all to right?  If not, am I to blame,
or was it fate, man’s wretched plight?

strange apparitions
forged from fog . . .
ruminations

Anna Cates