Dreams

My husband told me
he had a dream
that he was running
like the wind.

Oh, yes.
I know just the one.

I, too, dream of running fast,
of singing like a bird at dawn,
of writing like a stream in springtime,
and loving like pure light
as if my soul, released,
were flying

only to wake
to the gravity
that holds me down-
intentions so perfect,
execution awkward and stumbling.

And yet, even awake,
there are these fleeting moments of flow
that stir me
to keep placing one clumsy foot
in front of the other
in pursuit of those dreams.

By Maria Brady-Smith

Photo by Mike Smith