I sleep in the metropolis of twilight,
Colossal moon, catacombs of stars,
Dreams pinned to a deep well bottom,
To the hollows of the lunar night.
A lamp. Six-sided white to guide, touching
And melting the darkness it collects.
I ride on the warm wind feather and rain wet
Plumage through my rem sleep, down the
Blackened crevice where crickets congregate;
A worried, exhausted orchestra burdened to
Fiddle while the moon’s aglow. I am a woman
Of silence in a sleep and end of an endless dream.
Through a slotted window, first light bellied like a fig.
And beyond dew’s blossom and a pastoral scene,
The enchantment of day and fluted reeds in golden pond.
The air is sweet and lazy and I perchance to dream; am I
Worthy as the night begins to walk and makes fresh my sleep?
Crisp and quick the white light daylight folds, the twilight
Restoring. Jeweled stars gilded by moonlight veil the dark.
The wind shakes a thousand whispers exiled by the dawn.
And after their freedom, my sleep begins to whirl, whirls into
A dream. A dream-crossed twilight, the ivory gates of night.