One soft-winded luck-drenched
Park bench afternoon
While dust motes drifted languidly
In and out of sunbeam streams
Eyelids too closed to bother

I dreamed of life
Of love-stained moons
Lake-bound loons and the stars
And a vastness so supreme
Only a poor cosmic ash of a
Barely dim spark
Could comprehend it

I dreamed of the gravity of gravity
Of the long loose distance
Between here and now
Of the slow dip of the long journey

The road moves easily within
And without the fortress skull
At a whim
At an ungrim wager
With vaporous fate

I dreamed of how in old age
The bones of our deciduous dreams
Absurdly seductive
Still nudge us toward the impossible

Having arrived at which
We stare longingly behind