The Longest Dream

My bed twists and feeds me to the window

where I taste the dewdrops on a pane so mellow.

The snow is soft and shy under the heaving sky, 

laying by the river until the waters dry.

I rub my eyes as the stars go dim

but the hush and the fog and the pearls still swim,

and in the days that I can’t feel the most, the cool tugs me into the longest dream.

Crystal flowers sprinkle my glacier

like the Autumn rain,

but a hundred times heavier. 

The languor is inescapable, yet my demure eyes still see,

an ocean of hope and a wind that howls free.