As it turned out
the backyard was a forest.
Within its shuttered space
the trees towered tall,
neck-craningly, taller than tall.
They arched with saddened grace,
sacred and measured as cathedral ribs,
dark red against opaque blue night.
Then, through their vaulted canopy,
a fragment of a flake white moon.
We stood in brokenness
for me to understand
they grew from your earth,
not mine.
I seem to think
you took my hand.
and everything moves
7 hours ago
10 comments:
Lovely dream.
Oh, forgot to ask earlier, is that a new banner? I sure like it.
Lovely poem L.
That IS a lovely poem, Lucy.
"They arched with saddened grace..." That is just lovely. I'll probably be saying it over and over in my head tomorrow, it has just made a little place in my mind.
Beautiful!
saddened grace and flake white moon - lovely....
Difficult to capture so well such a moment, which is going to last much longer than a moment.
Thanks people. Nice to get responses from some who don't always respond to poems too.
Recounting dreams is a dodgy thing to do in any form, and I don't know how truthfully one can recapture dream moments; you can try to suggest the atmosphere, I think. The poem is different from the dream, but can be something else in its own right perhaps, both more and less elusive...
Anyway, worth trying!
Oh yes, ML, the banners been up a week or two now, autumn plumage.
Post-lapsarian! Might as well be Adam and Eve standing in their brokenness in the sacred, difficult world.
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