Waking in the Forest
In the dream I cradled the stone head of a horse. I carried an injured swan. I stepped inside the thatch-roofed cottage where the blind harpist was born and listened as he played the words of Yeats and I turned weightless as the feather of a wren, a grass blade, a mica flake, His harp: a simple wooden wing. I looked out from his window as the meadows burned kaleidoscopic green, then woke dappled, alone in sunlight. How our living bones attempt to mimic lucent strings. The creaking towers of the pines swayed like drunken gods above. I sat up where I’d lain wanting to transcribe the vibrations of the bees gorging on the loosestrife--burrowed deep, and those firstborn songs of bards and troubadours who held the dripping combs that salve the heart.
Peter Marcus's book "Dark Square" was published by Pleasure Boat Studio: A Literary Press (2012). His poems have appeared in The Antioch Review, Boulevard, Crab Orchard Review, Nimrod, Ploughshares, Poetry, Prairie Schooner, Rattle, The Southern Review, Spillway, Witness and are upcoming in Dunes Review, Miramar, North American Review and Notre Dame Review. Little Patuxent Review nominated one poem for a 2017 Pushcart Prize. He's been a recipient of a Connecticut State Arts Grant and residency fellowships at Vermont Studio Center, Marble House Project, Norton Island and PLAYA.