it pours through the window,
chasing dream land cobwebs from my head.
I drink it in, like nectar,
sweet beyond sweet.
The first filaments of dawn were different,
they wrapped around the edges of the sky.
Oh how I miss them already...
and like fragrant white tea leaves,
that perfect second infusion, which is touched with bitter,
but has given up the flowered scent.
That scent that draws all that lives and moves to it
and conjures with the origin of the world.
It kissed my eyes, and brushed the sand from my sight.
Light was just a breath of night then.
But now, it flows forth,
as wine from some mythic spring,
to make us drunk,
with the possibilities of the day.
By night such mirth as danced with our minds,
was chained by the illogic of a dream,
and illuminated by the drops of luminescence
that bleed from stars in the velvet sky.
I can't recall their course or shape,
I think I ran in terror from you,
or perhaps ached for your embrace.
By dreams these seem too close to one,
and all the same.
But now, bright buckets rain across my desk,
caress my hands,
and feed my sight.
And I hope our quarrel of the evening,
can, by my soft apology, come right.