But that is 
being threatened
plowed under
by grim realities
by haunted visions
crumbling the rhythm 
with the no count
reality seeping into 
the very pores of things.

Then blink once
and then twice
re-fancy the glade
the hill to the river
the sound of the pileated
swooping through the trees
the raspy cough of the deer
the Spring gobble of the tom
the sweet laughter of someone
near who watches and cares for 
your every move and breath.