A Nocturne

How sweet it is to, deep into the night,
    Let percolate your dreams in dripping suds
Of glowingly inebriate delight
    Distilled from honied rills and amber floods,
And then in threads of starlight finely spun—   
    All witched by frozen moonlight, pitched in black—
Suspend your limbs (made heavy by the run
    Of daily cares), and lay relaxed and slack
Till, saturate with drowsiness—and high
    Within a space of jewels and gems and jet—
You fall into the black hole's empty eye,
    And all the world and all yourself forget.
How sweet it is to all your life forsake,
Forgetting you had ever been awake.

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Forever in Love

“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.”
                      —Byron

I dreamt I lost my living’s vital breath,
And every moment there was falling free
Into the blank abyss of senseless death
The least remaining part of what was me,
As when a body naked to the harm
Of freezing air relinquishes the fingers
Before the hand, the hand before the arm,
And on and on, ’til the brain abandoned lingers.
And long without my fragile happiness,
But barely free of all the hate I’d known,
I lived my final moment in perfect bliss—
I lived in love, in love and love alone:
And, no machine for timing whatsoever,
The moment lasted seemingly forever.

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In Mid-song

My God: It loved me just enough to bring
My ass from out of nowhere—nothing-land—
Into this world wherein a bird can sing
A pretty song cut short by a playful hand
That loads a jagged rock into a sling,
And holds the tension on the rubber band
Until that time the rock’s sent rocketing
Throatward—

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