cold were my dreams
late night
within frozen glass
i woke to a chill deep
in where my bones slept
when suddenly
to my surprise
an echo whispered
just a moment unthered
a memory or more
the perfect rhyme
a rocky mountain wind
bright sun
snow within my fingers
a lover's lips
and almost
if i believed
a poet's sighs
could touch the sky
warmth
slow
from bones to fingertips
truth
tomorrow in the mirror
of yesterday
I like your words William. Poems from dreams are the highest art. Like making cakes from air or carving temporary masterpieces from some shifting liquid. I enjoyed the reading. Bob
Contraband Marriage, traveling along the hemline of loving after incarceration, is a love story written in lyric and free form, set in reality with a different ever after.
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Ron