Just after shoving down my feast of scenery, visual color stimulation
Stretched out across the table of mountains and sea and sky,
Streaked with blurs of smashed peaches, crushed roses,
Fading into foggy mists of haunted shores,
Deep down under the doors of vaulted basement sighs,
Fading into night,
Swallowed in the rapture of space to earth,

To my taught observance lulls an awareness of the slivered moon,
Catching in fingernail scrapings of heaven’s hues,
Stroked with the dews of crickets chirping to sleeping spruce trees.
I poked their needles in my hair and sought comfort in the knowledge of my feeling,
No longer the reeling bursts of energy I’ve felt before,
More the pricking of my nest’s dissatisfied state.
Discomfort is better than paralysis.

Still, the juice of fruit is stinging in my cognizance of past beauty.
I want to luminesce in the crescent glow,
Set foot on its far off shore
Teeming with firework fountains of unplumbed depths,
Clinging to clefts of pinnacled tower crests,
As cloudy sprays plant seeds in the fertile rows singing on my back.
Wings are sprouting there,
Pushing hair back with hoarded treasures of fresh, clean air.
A pair of cardinals descends intertwining stairs to their nested lair,

Time pokes its head into evening dreams,
Ever reminding the future, hoped for, eternal, of its not yet finished home.
The waning moon bobs in the wake of passing ships,
Slowly fading to the rim of sight,
Dimming light,
Ending night,
Dreams that might.