I remember you from long ago,
Your drifting silken skeins
Folding through the willows
Diaphanous skirts about
The rounded heels of hills.
Over the half door,
Bringing scents of pine,
With turf fire smoke,
It gathers this small boy
Washing hopes of lightness
Down shining paths
Towards a darkened wood.
By the setting sun
All glistens
Tears upon the damsons
And the plums,
Roosting rooks
Above the haggard gate.
The silent velvet
Welcomes him
To the realm of sleep
Leaping with his dancing dreams. JL July 2011
A week hopeful of lightness.
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