When I rise and look up, the blooming has stopped. It is pulling back into itself, like a flower folding inward, and in a moment the metallic thing has formed again, reborn in the sky, a glint; and as I watch, and because I wish it so, the metallic thing reverses its path, shrinking, returning to where it rose beyond the horizon.

I take a breath at last. As I do, the breeze starts up again, the laundry flaps on the line, making a sound, the baby cries, and I begin walking once more on the cobbles down to the sea.

I do not wish to be teased, so I tell no one about my dream.

Because I tell no one, the men who have reason to believe in gifts like mine -- never hear about me. Because they do not, they do not find me. Because they do not find me, they do not help me become the one who is needed -- in this dream and every other.



Publisher's Note

Rational Anthem Ivan Jenson

Just Like That Jennifer Mills Kerr

Dancing In The Shadows of Greatness Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Life slips Allison Whittenberg

The Dream Bruce McAllister

Debate in Seasons Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Ell Kyle Bradstreet

warm broken cookies Jessica Provencio

egomaniac Dr. Ernest Williamson III

Photo Circa 1969, The Art of Redaction Scott T. Starbuck

At The Special Olympics Sandra Ervin Adams