trying to wake
the motorcycle like steering
an anchored sailboat still wrapped in dreams
,
trying to wake up...
exposed skin evaporating the heat away
,
the sky
a painter drunk on prussian blue and crimson lake
,
she's out here again
so early or late
,
this magdaline
smiling to take away the mind
cutting through my forest of dreams-
the past looking hard on her brow
walking the catwalk to the corner and back
,
her expression containing the subtleties of morning
not yet manic
not yet forced
,
beauty and empathy cohere
with the frost and sun and morning
to silence the cries and temper the pain.
as if seeing a great concert with strings sawing away
reeds vibrating
trumpeters rocking back and forth
yet all that is heard are the beats of her high heels like a drum
,
Pan kissing the statue to life
putting her there for our sanity
,
flushing this world
with a sense of compassion-
,
selling away a deep sense of beauty...
even before I awoke
.