Last night I dreamt my old gray dog
was chasing a mountain lion.
Across a dark field he ducked and sprinted until his lame leg weakened.
The cat, her breath steady,  descended upon him in slow fluid movement.
Then I, a wilder banshee than she
Screamed from over the ridge.
Hair aflame with moonlight, arms waving like snakes, I dream hopped a marathon in minutes over high grasses and broken trees.
The lioness stopped, stared at me with weary yellow eyes,
and slowly
turned
away.