AEAEA
Recurring Dream Island

February 2005
 
 

4 February 2005
 

The Dreamer Dreamt
 

How softly remarkable, woven of hair-fine
elastic, a river-reed-wan braided strand
that remembers the star-set design dreamt of faery
night-magic drawn out of the head my pale hand
is now tenderly—wisely—caressing.  Dream further—
much further, till dawn in the eyes of a maid
you can neither have known nor forgotten has burned you
a heatless wet hollow where longings afraid
of their own secret meanings cling severally, singingly:
Lean low and hear their far voices rush near.
Now is my stroking repeatedly bringing you
nigh the sweet threshold that opens on fear
become love-wet astonishment down in the orchard
where—stretch as you will, the sung tendril won’t break.
Touch in return and be met with me, mortal.
Love’s dreamer dreamt woken will not cease to wake.
 

***
 

23 February 2005
 

A Doorway In
 

Lover, lay down the wet hollow reminder
of why you have ceaselessly pined—until now.
Lay the long heartache aside that still finds you
too easily; feel the bright hand on your brow
whose repetitive motion so soothes you, a trance of
refined liquid magic comes leaking sweet tears
through the eyes of your mind’s deepest sight.  More than glancing
enchantment admires you whose lovelight appears—
as aforetimes and always, each luminous instant
more clearly—to need in nigh-endless return.
Strange hall of scarce-mortal mirrors, beginning
between premonitions by which we discern
each the wisest of others, my hands stroke you deeply.
Heart-beatingly recognized ghost, angel-beast,
sweetest soul—let us circle and sound.  May we meet in
this way till forever has wound down and ceased.
 

***
 

25 February 2005
 

At the Center of This
 

You moved—so too quickly—the moment just meaning
to show you its secret design, then you fell
terror-deeply, a far hanging lilt on the leaning
night-shaft of swift light up the side of a well
shining wet with remembrance untold.  When I meet you
again, I shall stutter, but soon open wide
the fine leaf-work of dreams I have lettered so sweetly,
the willingly woken inspirer whose sighed
magic spell ghost-enchants us—his eyes flared and flickered,
unspoken enhancement of vision grown strong
throughout many glad lunatic minds as the pitch of
desire he commands enters echoing song—
now recalls—all at once and forever—two lovers
who meet as dreams vanish, too singing to shine,
yet too luminous—drench in deep silence each other—
to move—while we steeply, entirely entwine.
 

***
 

25 February 2005
 

To the Ghost of the Nowhere Snows
 

Long secret glow, slowest, softest abiding
between peaceful nowhere and everywhere strange,
I am leaking, your pale sacred holiness sliding
alongside the solemn insight we exchange
with each motion toward greater silence.  Endeavor
to know me.  Behold me as I turn to you
in your moaning.  I’ve tried to be dying, bereft of
the only frail form that will see me burn through
the false sky ancient nightmares conceived and constructed
of evergreen branches upon a weak pyre
but the spark, become circles of flurries, was sucked by
a singing wind.  Reach for the means to respire
deepest floodwaters salt as the very tear sliding
the warm fractured plain of the face true love knows;
I shall reach soon to bring it—myself—out of hiding,
the child of song-fire borne to you amid snows.