+--+


I close.

On dreams of open fields, 
an' mother's voice callin'
the sun down o'er the hills.

Whose smolder'd sky yields
heaven's diamonds fallin'
an' others blinkin', still.

Therein fingers trace
a map to ev'ry place.

Eyes closed, I say:
"Where solace waits."
an' open the gates.


...





Yet 'tis here,
still, I wake.









+--+













(Dreams are far too short.)