This is not the work of winter alone: Queen Mab has been loose in the night.
The horses’ manes will be atrocious!
Slender branches strew the lanes: the old ash tree must be suspected of complicity, for it has lost but twigs.
One unbroken piece of moon is left wedged in morning sky; behind dull cloud stripes of blue and pink fuzz like flannelette.
Is she sleeping now?
The horses’ manes will be atrocious!
Slender branches strew the lanes: the old ash tree must be suspected of complicity, for it has lost but twigs.
One unbroken piece of moon is left wedged in morning sky; behind dull cloud stripes of blue and pink fuzz like flannelette.
Is she sleeping now?
Our ribs hold anxious beats.
Of what does she dream?
The more we stare at the sky, the more the cirrostratus thickens.
In the thin fall of rain a whisper: of what do you dream?
Comments
Sorry I haven't visited in a while. It's been really hectic but in a routine of sorts now. Have a great weekend!
That plaits the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes'
She has other literary roles too- often she is a creator of dreams, and this is what I was thinking of, vaguely, that here I am making up dreams for her because it's easier than thinking about my own. Caught myself being a nervy procrastinator!
But beneath the hubris, I agree, there is love :-)
So bracingly immediate. I really, truly love it.