Looking Into The Forest, Considering A Dream

I woke to the sky in its blue culmination and still early morning. 
Last night, I dreamed of two poets, Eavan Boland, whose last book I’d read recently and had passed away last year and Edna St. Vincent Millay; although Edna was born much earlier than Eavan, Eavan was an older woman in the dream and Edna was a young woman. I also dreamed of my great grandmother Rose who was born about a decade after Edna. I don’t remember what had happened in the dream, just the memory of these people.
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