Entertaining the cricket song and
the small show of busy spectacle
as the ants flow over our picnic
basket.

Laid afloor with diagonal precision
the unconscious process in the tiny
details of neither here, nor there.

There's a familiar recollection in
the day this place comes to us from
our own remembrance of hidden valleys
and secret gardens only we eat of, as
the dream continues.

Hidden like faint lilies in a dream
painting that appears so real when
we awaken we are brought from
the real to our sleep.

When we will taste the waters
of rivers of tops of weathered
cones is when the moons of a
thousand million rotations

Have fallen victim, the
gravity of their sun.

01/21/2010

Posted on 01/21/2010
Copyright © 2025 Michael Defries