Night travels further than any day's journey,
taking the warp of mind, the weft of time,
weaving screens of mummery to wrap its ironies,
folds an origami dart of our sleeping selves,
propels us far over inveterate continents of denial,
catches us again, a child, the other end of time,
unfolds and tuts the stiffened drama of the page;
of our boarded rigor folds a muslin cloth
imprinted with drawn features of aged guilts,
gilt with fool's preciousness;
lets filigree run
down to the consummating sea.
So we awake
dream puns popped, continue the unenviable.
No.
Take time-out.
Sit back and watch a while
wind so deftly signaling with apple blossom.
.........................
The structure is built on an attempt to put five true stresses per line, though sometimes a structure is like the stone in 'stone soup', if you know that folk story. It organizes a discipline for the writer, a measure. But many national or regional versions of English are stressed differently from mine.
YOU ARE READING
The Singing Season
PoetryThe Singing Season. That's the spring-time. You'll also like other MajorSeventh poetry collections - and there are so many to choose from.
