In Her Dreams Of Spring

In her dreams of spring

She slithers between bushes underneath

The curve of Pisces

Curls up into herself like a tea leaf

To sleep in hollow trees

Deciphers the celestial Cyrillics

Into an alphabet of earth

Builds markers for her soul into a tower

Of cool marmoreal stones

Forgoes each last responsibility

For the grave chore of joy

Eats berries for each firefly she sees

Until her face and hands are smirched cerulean

Gossips with trees, and stops the gossip of

Young girls with urgent kisses

Digs her toes

Into the mud until she’s mucked with life

Grows horns and uses garter snakes for garters

While sipping wine from thimbled acorn shells

Collected from a feathered hat, that when

She whispers the right words in the bright tongue

Of stars, will turn her into a white raven

Who loves the sky

Who loves how small we are

And how it’s all connected and it’s not

The far incomprehensible design

And beauty of what has not yet appeared

But is, quintillions of light years away

Galaxies breathing, spinning, and collapsing--

Curling into themselves like bright tea leaves

To spin in hollow space

The perfect sense of the unknown, and how

The limitless cold distance of the stars

Makes her feel small and huge at the same time--

Like something insignificant as dust

And something so unique, the universe

Itself seems to have been created to

Create her.

Copyright 2012 Matthew J Wells