(Poem #193 on new numbering scheme)
The green gorillas will gasp and dance below clouds. A wisp of mist gropes the trees that grasp the hills. The cool air is crisp.
– an englyn proest dalgron. It may be surprising to hear that this is based on a fragment of a vivid dream I had 36 years ago, in 1981, while still in high school. I recorded it then in a journal I had. But this poem was written without consulting that journal – it’s just an image/story/vision that sticks with me. The full dream ended with nuclear holocaust – recall that I was in high school during the age of Reagan.