when I awake in the middle of a storm
O see me right
to drown or to sleep would be dear
if playing with the sea
I did not see you nor could see
to come awake in the middle of the night
upon a bed of dew
sparkling white light far upon the hill
across the rippling water
and the willowy whipping wisp of trees
that mist-vision is marked for a few
while dreams
of the summit's circle of vine leaves
wither in solitude
to catch a glimpse of pale stars in eyes
—jim sloman, october 1964
|
