Two Poems

The Dreamer Pushes Her Car Home

The dreamer pushes her car home in the blizzard.
She is blind to its burning up under the snow
until she sees that only its engine remains,
steaming at her feet. She weeps because it is charred
and shining in the mist the way the stars
were made when God's suffering ate through
to the universe. Some brilliance got locked inside,
leaving a sad glow. A milky sort of glow
like the ghost eyes of diminishing frost
along the grassy verge that pull her further into a dream
set amongst blossoms, bumblebees and lovers
cavorting behind the potting shed.
She is kneeling in the mustard greens,
ignoring their cries of joy. A great spotted woodpecker
flutters down and chirrups in her ear.
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