Imaginary Ancestors

I come from a place where real and imaginary ancestors dance under the rainbow arch. I was the one who dreamed of flowers under the full moon, the land where I arose from was like the light in my veins. More and more often I dream of a fictional place deep in the mind, more real than what is real. Like Robert Duncan, often I am called to a meadow where a cabin grows wings and stories, leaving me lonely for the laughter filled place where the living and the dead sit around the dinner table, leaning back on their chairs after the feast.