We Who Dream Know There Are No Borders - Gwynn O’Gara

[Larry Robinson]

We Who Dream Know There Are No Borders
			
						“ . . . my cells, which are my stars . . .” Frida Kahlo

Spring Lake, Santa Rosa, CA

Haloed by redwoods, a vulture sky,
and plump, comical geese, 
the soul-body of Guadalupe shimmers.

North on our backs, around our necks, 
in our skin, snuggled in suitcases, 
constant in cages, flowing underground. 					

With September’s feathered heat and bountiful 
barbeques. Tunneling cold tickles 
our legs through the water’s massage. 

Girls and boys play-fight for swan, burger, and
unicorn floats. Reborn in dream-water
lovers cradle one another, kids scream.

Late afternoons a breeze from the Pacific. 
Geese gabble in, splash down with cartoon faces.
Without wings we made it. Lost a few. Lost a lot.

Among thorns roses, food trucks, vineyards,
hoodies woven with sweat and song, spirit-
water blessings, fresh sweet miracles, 
we who dream know there are no borders.	

	- Gwynn O’Gara

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