JIM BROSNAN

★ ★ ★ ★

POETRY

Image by Todd Trapani

Lost in Dreams

I frequently interrogate
my wildest dreams
fascinated by the journey
I undertake on a solitary
route miles from home
where cottonwoods 
are silent as I speed
past Kansas farms,
wavering grain fields
under deep blue skies
dimpled with cumulus.
In the dreams of fall
afternoons along
the Merrimac, I hold
your hand as we skip
over rail ties before
we slowly approach 
a matte black trestle.
Now I question
the silence between us.

Captured Moments

It begins quietly
in early morning hours,
my imagination
envisions us
hand-in-hand dancing
across beige boulders.
In my daydreams
I hold you
at the jetty’s edge.
Soft as the stroke
of an artist’s brush,
wisps of your hair
kiss my face.
Outstretched on granite
blocks, we watch
a rising tide
claim the breakwater
as the last traces
of a burgundy sunset 
slips into darkness.
A crescent moon
reminds us
of other summers
when we watched
shooting stars,
stared at constellations
while whitecaps 
washed the distant shore.

Spring in Newington

Sixteen years ago
this spring, we parked
along the river at Fox 
Point, the Piscataqua
River Bridge seven 
miles upstream, 
to quietly admire

aquatic scenes 
you used to sketch.
Just about every detail 
of that eventful day 
is forgotten—a fading 
memory except 
remembering you.

This winter morning
along a shell-strewn
shoreline, I feel
the presence of Eros,
remember a restless
wind, your head
on my shoulder.