Heather Sager


The thief sets foot at my door,
he runs and skips 
on the front lawn.

A paper dragon curls in the corner.
A rubber ball lies buried in tall grass.

Clouds race in blue sky
over the worn fence.

A spectral being chases the horizon
over an infinite, rolling landscape.
You sprint ahead. 
Play games,
while in the spectroscope of your mind
making movies.

Now the clock shifts and ticks,
the indoors here eerily calm.

Yet your world is grand as a vast cartouche
full of puffing dragon clouds.

Heather Sager lives in Illinois, USA, where she writes poetry and fiction. Most recently, her work has appeared in Poetry PacificThe Bluebird Word, SetumorphrogMagmaOtolithsThe Fabulist, Highland Park Poetry’s Odes anthology, and more wonderful places.

Flights, Issue Six, September 2022