Little dragons, sleeping in the sun
you seem so tame. What works of hands,
what years of labor shaped this land?
Who knew when to call it done?
Do these sleeping dragons dream
of flowing free across the valleys
where now wind crooked streets and alleys?
Do canals remember they were streams?
Little dragons, sleeping in the mud,
caged in canals cut to human shape
do you hold a long longing for escape?
Do you dream thunder and wake in flood?
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
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