In the greying mist, battle rages
‘Tween the sun and moon
Locked in their matrimony war;
It is the evening star-child
Who gauges the raindrop
Tears slipping from the poor
Loser of such a fight twisted
Around each blinking beacon,
No more a message of hope
Than the morning. It’s peeking
When the daylight is over;
How audacious the golden Queen
Dares to be! With her memorandum
Of the sight in the sky,
She can command up any insomnia
Into bloodstained light.
The King of the night,
Though he is passed by,
Might still dare to come into flight,
Above our trees and our bushes,
Plains of emerald and jade,
Turned silver with blue,
So as not to fade,
When he has to hide in the couple’s
Cosmic encounter and horizon fight.
Nymphs of the moon,
And those comets, too,
You call upon them with your grace,
There’s a ring left behind-
Gold circlet ever turning-
As it reflects the concern on your face.
I am here in our garden,
With its dells and its peaks,
And the twittering, bickering skyline;
One hand as your angel protector,
Another left stray to beckon
The alirium of the pleasant day,
And the opposing, exciting eyeline.
What is beyond the prophetic
Touch of the dreamer
Whose heart is here foretelling?
Is it the lick of the emerised crust
As the earth to her is unfurling?
Its body silk of the lustre beyond,
All the sequins the midnight canvas
Enclosed in a dream
Of amorous supposition
From the night and the day;
Where your position may
Not even be where we think, in this dawn,
The highlights of the queen
Returning to seem
More ridiculous than before.
Do not dwell on bad memories,
You must put them to sleep,
As your own body settles,
Into the visionless deep.
Stretch your head across
The mounds of earth,
Lay your heart freely into place,
Hear the simmer of the rush
Of the brook below the bridge
As it hurries to its own bed-space.