By David Eide  

It is silent now
    And still
I am nearly dreaming
thinking of yesterday
ending with the voice
    of a woman,
shy in the performance 
    of a bird;

The Great Bird that 
flew from our heads 
and rescued islanders
who convinced themselves
that they lived in paradise.

Yesterday came,
the stock quote, 
the moving traffic,
the barking dogs;

a call went down
to the cave of childhood
where I smoked and cooked
over a smoldering fire;

the dog was chasing me,
I was dreaming, dreaming
that is was 1968 and
no one died; Jack Kennedy
was in the final days, the 
people were happy, in the mood
for celebration and poetry.

And when the convention came
Kennedy envisioned a prosperous
       70's; and in 1972 the
commentators complained that
"nothing is happening."

When I woke she was gone
The Great Bird had taken her
to a place where she was no friend;
where she hated poetry
and wanted, "warriors," and says, 
now, that she will breed
that she saw in a TV show.