Practice! Hide under bolted, wooden desks… Hands over ears. Hunch to the wall. Head to a shelter. The dream begins, then fades. Kennedy…Krushev Cuba…crises The dream returns. In the grayblack silence The yellow sun expands While catapulting toward me, Mutely enveloping all. In its incendiary yellowness, there is no escape. An…
The Dream by Mary Crane Fahey
