[Scribbles] Beds that fly with sheep and stars

[dark_viaticum]

Beds that fly with sheep and stars

It would occur in the dreams
of books that speak to children
and nurture their livelihood;
then eat their minds as adults
who have forgotten the words.

Silver apples on gold plates,
white horses in pine stables,
ivy is the gilded gate
anchored into pebbled cloud,
the image is a struggle.

The crack in the morning sky
dyes the cloud and mountain red
like only a horizon
can make but then fail to make
or sustain or hide from view.

There is something in each stitch,
I am as sure as I love,
and scent that brings me afloat
like heavily salted lakes,
and weighs my heart with air.

In the corner of your eye,
in the moment before sleep,
in the first press of fresh snow,
and swallow of demi-glace,
are anchors that sail in seas.