Hammer and Chisel

In my dream,

last night,

you wrote me a poem.

You were not in the dream,

only the poem.

It wasn't a love poem.

As I reached the bottom of the poem,

the words above changed,

like the board that announces train arrivals

and departures. (I want to make the clicking,

shuffle sound of the cascading letters,

but it doesn't add to the poem)

I kept rereading the poem.

Each time I read it again

the meaning changed.

Feelings are not made of marble.

Even if they were,

we could still alter them

with a hammer and chisel.

Sandy Kinnee

January 20, 2010