The eleven o'clock hour has crept up on me ..
Time's checking up on the dreamer who's eavesdropping
on the crickets just outside his open window ...
Shaking up words , throwing them on the table , picking
out the coal from the gold and the occasional blue diamond ....
Connecting the Pleiades and the Moon with an index finger ,
blowing a fantasy from open hand across his starlit creative theater ..

Playing life's jazz with fingers on a tabletop  ,
Tilting the balance between the carefree and non-sensical
with whimsical raven feathers of thought ..
The curator of his minds pale luminosity , foregoing
the feast of worldly carrion for a few bits of droll grain ,
god ****** this drudgery labeled mortality ..

And a sense of calm fell upon me as a towering vortex of cloud
filled my view of earthen dusk ..

After dropping her child at school
the day was a dream only hers
when she could make her own rule
follow it for all those hours.

She would sit on some house terrace
see the busy steps passing by
trying to gauge from their pace
the errands written in their eyes.

She would watch the life of birds
amused how they labored for a nest
and when falling day drew homeward
folded sunned wings into rest.

Spread her eyes beyond the concrete
above the trees far into the haze
where young kites were taught flying feat
by mothers circling the summer blaze.

Everyday all things were renewed
seasons rolled a movie before her
all that even though already viewed
was never bereft of a sense of wonder.

How her hours flew was not known
days turned to years as a rule
her child in no time was grown
no more she needed to go to school.