tom taylor

slumber garden

in perpetual daze the dreamer yields these pastures
at once golden hours phase these yards aparted notes
the curling spore from elegant thoughts are also seen
the dream itself imparting sounds to post or garden

these fogs lift and reveal the mountainside’s green slope
through the haze of unknowing partitions we float aside
the lovers dash through misty corridors and hallways at
these transcended forms alive and singing these poems

what finally calms the air inside the dreamer’s head elopes
to human scale beyond death’s gleaming aside in life’s
remoter locales hold me in embrace strong arms and friends
longer than the briefer signs we see along the long trail