The night fades.
The rose tunneled calm broken only by the singing of the gate leading the flow and carrying the memory of this vision
unfolding through the shrubs and low branches long the path beside damp mossy places where a Froggy freshness reigns.
Now a sunbeam rides the wafting mist depositing diamond spheres in strings
on spider threads woven in a swirl above the poet’s bench, its sitter rests awaiting tomorrow’s inspiration born of Medici curves,
the marble fountain transfixing the boxwood borders, the fairy maze where they not fooled transform to startled rabbits flea.
You’re sleeping lovely dream erotically inscribed in monogram locks withhold the familiar outline of your face.
The faded patina of that gilded mirror in the hall awaits your smile as do I, impatient to hear your barefoot
skips across terracotta tiles to our window seat in time to share these fluffy croissant rolls
and agree the beauty of your tomorrow.