Lapping at my hand
swimming in dreams
island of wrought iron
a jail or a throne?
Swimming, swimming in houses of glass
dark rooms with unknown terrors
dreams of young girls, boy babies
abandonment loss despair
the jangling of coins in the pocket
beware beware.
In other beds I dream of trails
pathways through the velvet
green treason
a wolf to protect my path
a view to the sea of Admiralty Inlet
a large black vessel approaches
seagulls warn danger danger
as they throw their sharp notes against the red brick.
Somehow
Psyche has unmasked her husband
in their marriage bed on the mountain top
as foretold, his beauty brought to light
sets him on fire and he is gone
forever,
no weeping from the dark mountain
can bring him back.
When will the closing of my green eyes
fail to bring the storms of memory
to overrun my protected island
the room grows ming red in aura.
Johnny Hartman and Coltrane lull me
into sensuous sleep
I long to dream of touch and touching.
A tsunami of terror swamps my iron bed
I am swallowed by myself and I cease to breathe.
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