Share https://www.terrain.org/mp3/2014/dec/Rzicznek_Maumee.mp3MaumeeAn aerial dream reveals the parceled land but it can not open quickly enough.Thoughts flood the woods and the self carves inward. Backwaters buckle under the ego’s surge,spirit holding on, like sinew. These irregular veins deposit mirrored, liquid limbs,rift parking lots from golf greens and supermarkets, part the private boundaries grafted to the uncertainties of world.These sine waves gone berserk draw the sky close—and it closes, goes under silence. A cast-iron skypours big minutes unceasingly into Erie and the March rain rattles me awake. https://www.terrain.org/mp3/2014/dec/Rzicznek_Realism.mp3Realism The sun arrives automatically, eye opened wide to the day’s bright span: blue snow and bird-chatter,a bit of music breaking in your kitchen, parsley sprig from the night’s meal (venison roast swaddled in bacon),stacked dishes that waited out the dark, spirit of water that left the drains wet; all persisting for you while you slept:a girl hands you a black bean tamale and you decide to leave the stalled car, walk the two miles home upand down hills, past shops and churches drawn from twenty remembered towns, ditches and blind curves from twenty more.The dusk lingers for seven hours, but the dream is nearly eighteen minutes—an interval between alarms,then the things of day roaring again in their brash colors, endless shapes. You take care to read the labels:bottle of pulped fruit, basic vitamins, the plastic tub of lemon yogurt. Your two-legged galaxy remains waryof the atmospheric glitches and crashes, the same awareness that fished and fished the long year you drifted lost at sea. Daniel Rzicznek’s collections and chapbooks of poetry include Nag Champa in the Rain, Vine River Hermitage, Divination Machine, Neck of the World, and Cloud Tablets. He is also coeditor of The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Prose Poetry: Contemporary Poets in Discussion and Practice. He teaches writing at Bowling Green State University.Aerial photo of river and rain by Vladimir Melnikov, courtesy Shutterstock.