Desperate Garden

House of Heart

Near daybreak eyes begin to close.

My mind steps down into our most

beloved poem

*In a dark timethe eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade …

Below  in spectral gardens

A raven sits motionless on the branch

of a skeletal tree greedily eyeing a

tiny lark all feathers and bone.

In the state between sleep and wake

I traverse birth and mortality,

a faint hint of earthy candles sweeps

the orb of my celestial dreaming.

Sensations of  pearls like tiny moons

fall from my open palm  into infinity.

And you,  whose sigh is a strophe

of sonnets, waits far at the boundary,

not spirit or  rose tinged snow

but flesh and bone and sinew.

Now  I am sleeping less,

roused by the wing beats of Boreal Owls

circling ancient Cypress trees,

their screech a fist  with knife edge

talons erupt through feathery curtains,

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