I had a dream when last I slept;
one of many nights
when, like a lion,
I fought Morpheus
for my rightful fearful sleep.
Go! My lids finally fell
on the battlements of the dream;
the tedium of everyday embroidery
disappeared as hell’s own fleet hove in sight,
roiling the divine cerulean sea
in which it was
my honor, my pleasure,
like a plucked flower
to float, fair as the beauty
of Blanche twice-blanched,
fairer than Tristan and Iseult
together in their bower of bliss.
Did sea-maidens, mermen
come frisking
on the bright blue
busied by hell’s minions
and the winds
white-whiskered water?
No, no, alone
on blue foaming backs
of barren waves
satisfied, I floated;
a prince in Babylon not finer,
a hermit dreaming beatitudes
not more in solitude.
The able hands of the dream
calmed the water still as glass;
from some far shore
the careful captain
of my proper woe warps my way;
his ship a splendid shadow
against the blissful clouds
of the setting sun.
Vainly, vainly he seeks me
in the coming of the dawn,
in the dying of the dream,
the sly dog, on the scent seeming
and the abiding sun
still beneath the sea’s rim;
he seeks in vain
and knows he will never
find his prey, even as
dawn lightens rosily
as Aurora is supposed to,
lightens perceptibly,
a mystic freshening
calling up the goddess
to bless Apollo, the light-bringer;
far off in the west the lonely waters
forced to blush athwart the dawn
all the way to the rising light,
prized beyond all glory,
source of life, of bountiful creation,
blessed warmth.
We are coming alive now,
like Lazarus waking from his fitful death,
we are coming, awakening, returning
to steady indestructible day.
Forget sleep-hedged safe havens,
seen in a dream;
there are none.
Strangers armed to the teeth
walk the roads
in this world of sharp edges,
sticks and stones thrown
by friend and foe alike;
bear it as best you can,
go your ways
and resume.
***