Break In
Nels Hanson

One new, one old, two pairs, four
brown shoes left tracks in the dirt
path from my door, toward open
pasture of wild antelope. My red

shirt I saw flying above the pines,
a white egret with burning breast
like morning sun beating scarlet
pinions. In blue jeans, bitten rip

for tail, an auburn fox ran quick
along a riverbank, glancing thru
shadowed water where rainbow
trout swam disguised in argyle.

Mummy wrapped in yellow scarf,
a snake hunted underground blind
moles in armor, a glove's severed
fingers. I dreamed my wool coat

glided like a hawk and opossum
waved down vest's green banner,
laced boots hiding rabbits leaping
three stairs and palm-leaf emerald-

banded fedora skidding, trailing
prints of mice, etched scratches
in spilled flour. I sat up at dawn
but in cedar closet all the clothes

remained unlike black Baltimore
Oriole orange-billed baseball cap
a Douglas fir's high tip still wore
up the street in a neighbor's yard.

Copyright 2016. All rights reserved.

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