3
This storyteller is a hunter-gatherer. He lets strangers
grow their own stories nine months out of the year.
In the summer, he criss-crosses the country
to harvest them. The last time I saw him,
I drove the school bus he purchased across a long lawn,
felt like the largest animal on a savannah
until the savannah dried into asphalt.
In my dream life, I understand:
Transience is natural. I do not question
the mouse that becomes the buffalo; I accept
when morning dissolves characters into memories
too small to hold through the end of their day.