The Dream

In my dream
the stream ran swift
and swirled about rocks
that seemed to stair step 
down the narrow canyon
in near darkness 
the pine and cedar 
towered with blue daubs 
of sky
trout hidden in a deep pool
near a giant boulder
and atop that granite
I was writing a poem
on a scrap of paper 
and the next minute
I adjusted the scope
on my sniper's rifle
while I waited 
for the dark meeting
that was a mission
for good
I was told
yet it remained
frozen in time
as I awoke
on a train
taking me home
in the light
of day.