To Dream, as Region

Daybreak, being Autumn, describes the walls

& windows I’d not seen the night before;

across the floor, the sunlight, carved through

lattice-works of leafless branches. Rich with sleep,

the mirrors of your dressing-table shimmer

with the remnants of dream, colors

rusting on the edges; should I turn to leave,

I’d find the stairs only vaguely remembered.

…it was Summer last night, skies

under lightning, as we sat on the back-porch

of backyard summer nights; the sparkling of stars,

the lights of distant cities, our silences

shaped by the blindness of distance.

The scatterings of insects, the tattering

of leaves at dusk, surround the field,

the contour of the land revealed

in the sound of insects, this dense

glittering of sounds, as delicate

as dragonflies; the stars, that come

unfastened from the night, to fall upon

the grass & dance like fireflies, as fire

dies the death of air;

Daybreak dies the death of dream, a shroud

of chill morning. An omelet perhaps? seasoned

as you like it seasoned, with thyme & tarragon.

Naked, you descend the stairs, the bedsheet

wrapped & dragged about you, carpeting

the stairs, the folds of fabric revealing you;

we hadn’t lit a fire, but trusted to the warmth

of those sheets. Winter was a distance I hadn’t

wished to cross; but in the soul-shaped silence

of your eyes, I desired such distances.