Pale sunlight pierces pink clouds, floating home to the moon.

The day sighs in its autumn, preparing a bed

On golden bronzed leaves that fall in airy layers around noble trees

With spiders weaving curtains of spun silk across branches that catch diamond dew drops


Steadfast stand, old rugged tree stumps, platforms for tired damselflies, who,

With transparent glass wings spangled with fluid crystal,

Float, their vibrant bodies heave, rest, shift and land precariously

On Antirrhinum, warming themselves, disregarding the intrinsic soupçon of saccharinity


Here, in this clearing surrounded, by this circle of whispering leaves

Curtained off, from the rolling concrete meadows

I am swept away to a land of fragrant reverie where inspiration

Presents itself consistently in creeping tendrils, cavorting branches and ephemeral bird song


Someday, I will wake up to stay my existence here, in this haven, but now,

The sun is dipping lower into its oceanic cup, the disc melting

Out of my sight, but manifest by the darkening hues, the vanishing patina

I will return, to relieve my well walked feet, my scarred familiarity and my tired heavy thoughts


This is my demesne, a sealed secret memory-scape of lost wishes

The keys to which I sometimes find in my dreams

That take me through time, space, life and parallel universes

My youth, my years, my age and my love will take me across the bridge to the pink cloud kingdom


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