Manuel Sánchez. My Pregnant Wife Sleeps in a Boardinghouse Hallway

Do I hear you, flitting dream, shaking your feathers?

I am sitting perfectly still, preventing the sleepless from wandering

       over your fluttering feet.

Do I hear you, green dream, rustling your feathers?

Or is it the wings of geese lifting from a field of cut cane,

       freighted with wild seed?