Within a dream,

a hawk above

gently rides

patterns in the wind.

Seeing this,

my dream-self

whispers:

Higher perspective.

Trusting the flow.

Hunting...poems.

The dream-hawk circling

comes to rest in a nest

high atop a sentinel pine.

I awake

from my nap

on the shaded rocks.

An instant later,

circling above

on this side of the veil,

a hawk

of the realm

of mountains and rivers.

The hawk glides down,

alights upon a sunlit pine;

inner world

outer world

one.