If during the day I sleep,
I wake–
To a colicky scene,
And the robin and the mailman seem frozen in place,
They then reanimate,
With jarring noise they break their icey mien.
Or a string snapping on my hung guitar,
A dissonant jangle,
Like geese in their honking 'V' flying far,
As though their heavy bodies flapped in place,
Honking till I'm awake.
Daytime dreams I know not what they are–
They fly south becoming faint.
Or the raucous boy,
Attacking up snow–plowed Troy,
Or winter chimes in a clamoring swirl,
The barrels scraping down the street,
Tinkling their cans as they unfurl,
They wake me with a grating sound
Like the start to a winter merry -go-round,
Thus impatient with me to wake themselves,
The boy standing on one leg can put it down,
And continue with his sled and boyish shouts.

But when at night and my dreams are sweet,
Soft and kind, as falling snow,
Im in love with her beauty, though she is covered head to toe.
The Arborvitae lithely, slowly, arching over,
Proposing to the green-glint wind sift
Drifting banks that shoulder,
The chickadee puffs her dress so her legs don't get colder,
I wake and remember that my dream was sweet,
To the sound of the morning light suffusing the snowy street.