I want to wake in a garden bright with poems,
Where words can play in the grass
And tumble and roll like a cricket ball
I want to wake on the branch of a tree and shout the lines into the air,
Where angels can hear and laugh at my verse.
Clasping our hands in the flavor of mimics.
The songs of Cohen make art in the gravel.
Lines swirl with a thousand pebbles.
Walk me and taunt me as this masterpiece promises another kiss.
Blown upwards to clear a sky of mysterious clouds.
I want to wake away from my imagination and find you asleep just as you have always been.
Amongst the thorn and bramble chains I want to wake you with the sound of a distance violin playing for those who dance in dew as they dry in the dawn.
I want to wake and touch you from the beginning of a thought to the end of love.
Where brambles bring fruit to sweeten your pillow
I can stroke your hair and release the dream that brings you home.
I want to open my eyes with you and tell the stories of hunger that kept us nourished.
The tales like seedlings stored for years now blossom like soft pink petals, like students of a new earth waiting for a time to be born.
But you sleep forever in a tangled web of twigs and thorns.
Fading away at the bottom of the garden.
Where my father said the fairies played.
Magic was there,
I knew it,
It was mine in my hands.
Wake with me this morning If only for one time more.
If magic carries the air that rises, I will give you a rose,
to say gratitude
And I can wake up to love
as it dances the waltz around a quiet fountain
of lost kisses.