Tuesday, June 4, 2013


Summer Morning Early
by Ms

Under the beloved comforter, still
unwilling to relinquish that weight,
he tosses into the too bright light.

Aging eyes, their fading sight
recoiling, want shade, a cooling glade
where none, but in a dream, can grow.

Dreams don't dream themselves, you know.
The dreamer paints an arctic night,
inventing where he's never been.

It's pleasing just to be, to be imagining
a Winter's constellation--the great bear
plodding to his cave for hibernation,

stops, drops the dipper into color waves
which break over him in swirling mists,
slaking his unbearable thirst.


Mo Crow said...

good words to take into the winter dreaming here in the land down under

grace Forrest~Maestas said...

the Great Bear, yes.

jude said...

mom is quite a dreamer these days.

yvette said...

how beautiful