Strangely warm, rainy, gray-and-peach January day in Kentucky
and the kitchen smells like biscuits and wet dogs.
I'm remembering a day spent searching for the tree
I saw in a dream, even though I know I can't find it
in the usual ways, but I did find one that reminded me of it,
of the tree that filled my vision wider than it was and
broader and deeper, like a song you can still hear when
you close your eyes; it's in there still, filling your head.