fine sliver of dawn crawls
through cloud, through boughs;
here, a punctuation by curtain-
hole. song in seven beaked
tongue, held tender in
imperfection. notes carved of
century's trickle. dreams swell
down to quick: dilate through
signatures of some familiar
reality. diluting in the
effervescence of waking
thought. only ever dreamt in
colours of you, out under fields
of stars. oh!, to lay down fresh
tracks; on& ahead to meadows,
to sleep.