Just before midnight on scant-traveled roads,
the stream of each streetlamp hypnotically flows.
No one dreads the hours ahead
for onward through darkness we silently tread.

Nocturne and noontide, our wayfaring tsoris
dissolves in the preludes of a botanical chorus.
Echoes of muzak crackle in waves
as rhapsodies soothe our youthful malaise.

Over the moorland, into the canyon,
under the silken moon.

I want to keep all of the words
that find me in wonder and fear.

Spectral fingers reach for mine
but slip through my hand into the dark.
I fascinate from afar
as night pulls away their billowing skin
and wipes away their misty faces.

Ghosts ahuddle on an ivied bridge
poised in pearl-white robes.
Empty eyes and trembling hands
brush through the stream invisibly;
nothing to touch, no one to see.

Pebbles stare back as ripples unfold
into reflections of the weak and cold.

I've dreamt your hands painting the twilight
and folding my epistle into a rose.
So many pages stained with black coffee,
so many poems limned with doting prose.

I've dreamt the fragrance of warm linens,
your patterned quilt and sleepy eyes.
Ever so slowly, the pink-clad nimbus
wheels across lavender skies.

I've dreamt the embrace of limpid waves
breaking upon the charcoal shore
and as I'm wrapped within moonlit shallows
my gaze shall cascade into yours.

Lazing in an unbroken innocence;
a whirled undersea, under me.
Blazing tides taking hold of ambivalence
a calm serenity sweeping through the boundless deep.

An oceanic labyrinth,
rolling in the shadows of the sea.

Gazing past an apparent diffidence;
a cold melody for remedy.
Minding these subterranean incidents,
my torn identity plunges in a swirling stream.

An oceanic labyrinth,
roaming in the dimness of the sea.

Pale gleams flutter
upon a lap of fluttering streams
and in a dream, the sun melts
as the moon sets at the end of my bed

Island marooned, the mana consumed,
and with ancient runes a song is stitched
as love is woven in the white of wool threads.

Splotches of sky,
daubs of fuschia and white idle above.
A cottage near the stream, our soft painted dream,
and ripples of blue.

Watercolors,
silver mist blurs the mountainside.
Rows of emerald pine, our hidden divine,
and beads of limpid dew.

Echoes of dawn,
a cool gale of the nearing spring.
Awash in teal blooms, our calm wooded womb,
and memories of you.

Moonset slips beneath a steel sea;
crescent sailing on the starless deep.
I sketch the hallowed sky in my dream.

Sunrise lifts from under the hills,
music stirs as dawnlight spills.

Horizon bursting,
a choir rehearsing
requiems for fallen friends.

Moonchild in the lap of a pine
singing for the wordless divine.
She wanders on the waves of her mind.