a dream of wings

An older poem, slightly revised. Just cleaning up a few words and phrases, a little compression.

I think of last night's vivid, visionary dreams, as I revise this poem. How often dreams give us images and experiences we can turn into creative work; how much of a gift these dreams can be. How often my own dreams have been fertile material for creative mining, in addition to the spiritual and psychological lessons I receive.

What do dream-images "mean"? The answers are equivocal, mythic and archetypal, rather than clean and dried. They often seem numinous, meaningful, resonant, but without providing answers. It's as if the answers are there, if only we could locate them.

Really—I don't know what the meaning or purpose of life is. But it looks exactly as if something were meant by it. —C.G. Jung

The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift. —Albert Einstein

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dragonfly nymphs
emerging from rocks
unfurl wet wings
airborne till first frost

hulls of cicadas
attached to every tree limb
of the apple orchard
behind the school
where we used to play
starship on the branches

young man climbing
to the high rocks in moonlight
angel wings or dragon wings
emerging from his shoulders