The air is filled with dreams: through
the hole in the center, good dreams
find their way. Ojibway dream net

As I was directed, I hung it over my bed
and that night a dream found its way
through the hole in the center

of this net--one-legged, but many-tongued
and talking out loud while dancing
the circle dance. His right foot wore a sandal

of gold. His left leg of wood,
encased in silver, beat the drum of night.
From his ears dangled bells.

When he offered to cover his nakedness
with my greatcoat, in its pockets
animals hummed. When he spoke

long ribbons of words curled out of his mouth,
printed banners floated in the sky.
He offered to teach me

spun like coins in a magician's hands.

When the sun leapt out of the woods,
he left. I noticed his wings
were the color of blueberries.

This afternoon, having nothing better
to do, I walked through an indifferent rain
to the museum. There, in a glass case

was his leg of silver. I was told
the writing that spirals the surface
has never been deciphered

and the leg has not yet been attributed to any
known culture. I hurried home. I searched
in the drawers, in the cupboards, and under the bed

I found it. In its webbed sinews

a blue feather,
a glyph of silver. Light,
like a mad saint, applauding.