my dreams are mostly half-conscious
oh of wither-withe season queens
keyhole snowing stars I wake
mostly less aware
of –

while the world’s flow and turn can be
a dream such whole and merry
draughts drink we
and a spirit, cold warm-hearted spirit
leads me to phantasmal dawn
in wandering trellises, carriages
yellow-wheeled
swivel softly – oh feathery dawn, I –

and wide-howling wind is –
the leaves are falling softly
rustle, says the cold blue wind in
red and orange love and lore
faint with mead of fantasy, I
spirit-step into the dreaming memory

that resurrects oh constantly
all dreaming, I am taken by
sleighs, the traveled wool-cloaked sighs,
following
the years that transmigrate
to spirit halfly, bells like laughter
echo down the lays
whose disbelief I share, happily
 (the leaves – oh do remember)
and before the –
oh transcendence

lift me, for I’m elsewhere.