If during the day I sleep,
I wake,
To a trump; a baby, a blue Jay or a muffler from the street,
And the chipmunk and the mailman seem on erstwhile pause,
They then reenact their play for me.
Or the wind playing my hung guitar,
A dissonant jangle,
As the geese in their honking 'V' flying far,
As though their heavy bodies flapped in place,
And honked until I awake,
Daytime dreams I know not what they are–
They fly away becoming faint.
Or the raucous boy,
Attacking 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 drifting, wind sift
Banks that shoulder,
The puffed up chickadee, so their legs dont get colder,
I wake and remember that my dream was sweet,
To the sound of the morning light suffusing the snowy street.
#heybabybaby
