Topsham, Maine. U.S.

Water Dreams

When water dreams
its reflective eye gazes upward
to rarefied destiny;
racing with crystalline wisps of cirrus,
carelessly tossed into heights of blue summer,
or merging with whorls of foreboding lenticularis;
ceilings of smoke, faces and fire.

To be one of infinite droplets after a storm,
arcing in neon redemption,
or a reaching, radiant halo
around sun or moon;
oracles revealed at last.

Tendrils curling from a morning lake,
or fog, silent, sifting
through dark spruce.

Cumulus towers are impossible topiaries,
trimmed to the imagination,
or the works of overly romantic painters
that claim the sky.

Hurry now, toward gilded shreds of late autumn sunset,
before small warmth is pulled away,
and dim gates open to boundless shock of icy dark.

So many days of awakening to
ocean and gutter,
river and puddle,
casting an eye skyward
and dreaming anew.

© Jeniferlee Tucker. 2009.

(No Ratings Yet)

 Loading ...