Now That's a Pony

I dreamed one night 
of a field of violets,
under a golden sky.

The flowers 
glistened with dew,
like they were covered 
in sugar crystals.

The next morning,
early,
a straight-line storm 
hit our city.

The sky turned deep yellow.

Trees were splintered 
on the ground,
and homes 
I passed by all my life,
and thought, one day.

The power was out 
for a week,
in temperatures 
over a hundred.

Seven people died.

I never dream 
of violets anymore.