The dream, the dream
Of porcelain, so keen,
Dancing about my mind, in its sleep,
Waking to the sun for its keep.
I dream with golden textures as its hue,
Coddling the romance, becoming brand new.
With sparkles for resplendence,
With agony for remembrance.
I nurture her ground
That she might grow,
I listen for sounds
That she might call back.
I bleed the unfolding joy,
Laugh about discomforting ploys
To take her away,
Far from me,
Far from our play,
Away from sleep.
The way she runs,
The way she catches
Each falling drop
Of a gleam that wasn’t ever there
To belong for where we are aware.
I end in the ground,
I end with the sound,
By a moment’s worth of gladness
When the dream is but a raindrop, more,
Than all I could ever adore.