in a field

I walk in a field
which rolls beyond my gaze
the ripening wheat
soft, abrasive

I wander
always wander
for the stream I had once found
which fenced the field at one end
and could provide
respite from the summer heat

The stream I had found, long ago
a brook
a tree on its distant bank
proffered shade
A bird
a small thing
his song, melodic and sweet
lingered on my ears

I watched him
—stared at him
as he hopped and flittered
around the tree
but always returned
to sing to me

I knew at once
that he was mine
and I was his
songbird and audience,
a willing captive of his melody

But now I’m gone
I wander
always wander
through the field
soft and abrasive
searching for its end
for that stream
the brook
and the tree
for my passerine friend
whose song had entwined my heart
with the ribbons of its melody

But there is none
only the wheat
dancing like billowing silk
soft and abrasive
in the dry summer breeze
I wander
always wander
in a dream

Is it a dream that I remember
or merely hope
or will I never hear his song again
even in a dream

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