New Brunswick Canada
After the first creeping rays scan the meadows
with white lightwaves of morning over greensward
gliding like a spirit they conquer silhouettes.
Without fading and with reckless destination
they reach the tempered sands and reveal reflections
past the glassworks and at last to images made
by breath, heaving in dream zones of light slumber.
Inside the walls there stands the dark figures
where, collecting their jizz, they conspire mystery,
illusions of connected conjure.
They stretch now and begin to move, so fast they go
in crowds, and at last in a brilliant madness -
blazing butterscotch swords dissect them into
splaying icons round sunlit kins.
And always music, playing out of reach,
a rooster crowing, cracksman of sweet sleep
sifting through dreamland pastures in the mind
and flushing out visions of Eldorado.
The cockcrow of choice causing bedfellows and soul singers to battle for the beauty's heart.
At last, a murmer, late for morning work
whispers from the crest of the cortex beyond
where finally a small embyro of conscious
light feathers the flickering lids of life.
The like coiled spring set free she bolts straight up to -
the boondoggle of a button to push, before a smile
breaks honey sweet across her face - my wife awake!