If ever I were to meetthe dream by sea-green eyesas they sleep, a beveled glassyet a reverie, I would imposeupon those that leftin the legs of wombto a leave-taking of melancholyas death alone drownsas the darkened sunset drowns. A sway of dark weeps,the ocean bleeds in the lithe rockswaddled at the surfdebased into what is leftthat cannot die,It was a dream that wasn’t mine. … Read More a dream that wasn’t mine.
Shines above, the light that finds The sea’s protest and the dream of a wildflower, Where the trees of death were made with patted seeds By the bygone dream’s shadow that pleaches Virgin buttresses from this cold pearl of the night. Autumn is the dark, dark Leaf that floats through some wind now, Along with the scathed wintery hands That breathe the tender desire … Read More A Wildflower Dream.