soft silence as the storm brews outside, gently
sweeping leaves across the sleeping sky
as the dreamer weaves a web of memories,
each one suspended by gossamer threads . . .
her eyes stare, idle, over the sylvan landscape,
a fresh country of rich greens and oranges,
the smell of the swirling stream wearing down
a weathered rock, while the water flows
into the sky, melting in a deep blue swirl,
the brilliant colors of a peacock's feathered tail . . .
a tear falls from the heavens, off a single cloud
where the iridescent angel creates her dreams,
wings glimmering faintly by the dying sun . . .
a whisper drifts across the sky, wrapping quietly
around her, the sound of sweet melliloquence,
the tender murmur sent by one from faraway,
and an ecstasy of pure feeling, like the phantasms
conjured in the striking aurora, thoughts of
glistening radiance, and the soft love as she smiles,
sleeping in the cool midnight breeze while she dreams.