Oneiros

Once in wheatened fields
He ran
Exalted by the wind
Limbered stretching,
Brushing legs, and arms
Soaring over golden ends,
Undulating seed top rushes,
Toward the blue earth split sky
Ahead, behind, aside
The same distant magic line
Never reached but out for,
Exuberated glad.
 

Are you listening? Sir? The
answer? I’m not sure...sir.
Anything? I guess not sir.
Someone else! Who knows
the answer?

 
Desktop leaning sitting
Jammed to next, stopped
And waiting
For the teaching sound to end
Or to speed up,
Get out and get away
Then a sideways glance
To the glass squared outside sky

And once again in wheatened fields,
He Ran.