In the Small Hours

From ancient dreaming I woke up at two
I wandered waking into street-baked night
to hang between the walls of man
and mind
   
bound by aching
wrung by my own
muscles
hungry for breath
   
I sifted through the thousand cities
layered on the stone
and never found
my own

MOON

If,
in a moment frantic
my mad beauty,
I,
tiny moan
could see you then,
when it felt
honeyful
live, ache, drunk
still after love.
My delirious goddess
we
worship a moon
lake rain and blue;
The summer gift.
A woman some enormous
power
less part delicate sleep.

*Elizabeth*

Trees outnumber *Elizabeth* 
    Clouds  blossom      Streets   carpet
  Locks   harbor      Walls     garden
Glass    pictures    Steel  poses
       Lamps fountain   Stones nurture
    while
    Trees,
     still
   outnumbering
   *Elizabeth*,
  surround and defend....

[click to view introduction]