by dim light
cast from
the stove top range
I wrestle with the brushes
from an eight year old’s
paint set
moving colored water
across paper
in 4am dark
I don’t want to wake anyone
just feel
the weight
of all things
still fresh
from the dream

armloads of thick-skinned
root vegetables
ten pound pumpkins
all set and sorted
to be plated in gold

a bracelet offered
that fit
half my forearm
rainbow moonstone
milky irridescence
in rosy
copper banding

interpreters of dreams
the essence
holds the meaning

friends bestowing
substantial treasures

I’m the first one
in my house
this morning
layering oranges and greens
in the corner of the kitchen
no reason

two dimensions
in gold

One thought on “The Substance of Pumpkins

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