i sometimes wake myself speaking to you aloud from my dreams

the Lake carries my voice
in one direction, west, at night;
if i’m being truthful,
in sunlight too

do you hear me in your sleep,
or when awake, in your perfect nest, your perfect, structural roost

no rest then, no rest now,
“be” or “do”,
and, “do” won out

i found /no, fought/ for my contentment
then lost /no, loved/ it away;
if i am being truthful,
it was too easy

i am too easy.

i want to get back to when the tolerance of crows was all that mattered to me; when meadow and sky were enough to hold my singular, regent attention

and forget/ no, ignore/ the attentions of men who unbecome and rebecome strangers