I had a dream
a long time ago,
born from a poem
called Dover Beach....
I was standing upon
the white cliffs of Dover,
on the broken edge,
on a full moon night -
a white rose kissed
by a white ribbon spray
tied the primordial knot
of uncertainty;
and the grains of salt
thrown up by the waves
who renewed their vows
to a moon-dusted shore,
sanded my taut skin
like silver stardust
blown through eons,
to wake me up to
a self-forgetting score;
and then I heard
the wind coax the waves
to rise and wash over me
with their melancholy,
was there an escape?
I wondered too,
from the slow cadence
of our human misery;
but the moon still shines,
and the waves part and meet,
as I stood upon
the lonely cliffs of Dover,
where a seagull called
as it learned to fly,
held by the wings
of a virgin earth
and a pregnant sky.
That dream
came true
last night.
