Year: 
2017
our landscape trembles
in a storied web
worn cold with weather
whitewashed for another day
 
          *
 
the door opens and shuts
waiting for her
the immortal one and her music
played under a cloud
of the church organ
a hundred years old
 
          *
 
sun behind a cloud
piercing, transparent
folded in the leaves of grass
in a dream 
of another world
 
          *
 
daytime lullaby
in the meadows around our feet
 
grown free
until they carry us off
in a child’s dream
 
          *
 
whisked to another time
in the pre-dusk hour
when light begins to turn
shade-by-shade
to a nighttime dream
 
          *
 
carved among the woods
in shadows etched in ink
as night unfolds
on the skulls 
of whitewashed lies
 
          *
 
dark waters
burst in the moonlight
of distant dreams
 
          *
 
history 
made once more
on the bed of useful lies
 

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