SPIRIT HOME
            by Lynn Samsel
                c. 2008
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In the dream a Great Horned Owl 
waits near redwood forest,

one wing pointing to a faint path
disappearing into shade.

"Come this way," Owl says, 
so I do,

carrying warm sun on my back 
like Turtle's shell,

moving into darkness curiously;
unafraid of Owl's reputation as a harbinger of death.

In my dreams Owl is Minerva:
advisor, guide, seer.

I imagine ancestral footprints on this path
as I follow wing shadow deeper in.

 
In the next dream I am already in forest,
running swiftly as a bird,
 
following Snowy Owl
past ancient red bark and branches.
 
In shadows cast by moonlight,
one moment I see great white beating wings;
 
the next I see the edge of a diaphanous gown
disappearing ahead of me.
 
Owl/Woman turns and smiles.
Her countenance warms my seeking heart.
 
Feathered edge of fabric
lightly brushes me awake.
 
If I could but touch the hem,


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