Across the Fields of Yesterday

Across the Fields of Yesterday
Christopher Bogart

Across the fields of yesterday
Lie dreams that hang like summer smoke,
that, once afloat,
hover over slender blades of grass.

Each gentle puff of wind escapes
and separates diaphanous dreams
to single, slender strands of hope.

Some dissipate into the air.
Some curl and form
like clouds, and
shapes like figures,
Waiting to be read
by desperate eyes.

Some spread
and fly around like
pollen in an August wind,
to populate to newer hopes,
newer visions,
newer dreams,
form faces chasing
traces into alien worlds.

They twirl as airy ballerinas,
pirouette above the fields,
only to yield
to breezes cooler,
crisper, sharper,
curling into faerie forms,
and catching them
before they are borne.