Dream a Little Dream of Me  

midday hush,
poplar leaves hang limp in the heat,
filtered light floats to the forest floor,
the stream pushes along, dreamily,
not daring to make a sound

unbroken silence,
but for a throaty, rasping sound,
a sequined duck calling his mate,
a feathered Louis Armstrong
belting out "I'm in the mood for love."

love,
what is it about a male in love?
like the filtered light, his voice softens,
settles in dark spaces between spruce boughs,
offers hints of secret pleasures,
promises nests lined with feathers

aloof,
his small brown-feathered mate,
she's in the mood,
but not, it seems, for love,
instead, she dabbles, pokes about,
ignores his love-choked whispers

tension,
what is it about a woman loved?
her shy restraint,
her veiled glances.
this will she or won't she?
this waiting and waiting

circles,
he moves
closer and closer,
his duck sonnets enclosing her in sound
Louis' trumpet is plaintive,
"dream a little dream of me," he sings,
"yes, dream a little dream of me."

 

 

© 2006 Ray Rasmussen