At four forty four this a.m. I broke
from a curious and troublesome dream:
a back yard cold hound arced from a choke,
bejewelling black glass with sad bark and stream.
*
Struggle, the chain enchanted. But relief?
Not tonight. Nor evasion. Fear defeat.
The fettered dog’s howl and shackle of teeth
seemed to goad no one but me in the street.
*
I spoke. I scolded the chain and dark cur.
Silence, night stealers! Deliver release!
I crave the heat and heart of my lover.
I ache to favour, to follow, to please.
*
I woke at last – the window, reflected
the shape of my love; a vision, complete.
She slept at home and roamed a laked district,
sparkled naked beneath Rydal Mount’s sheet.
*
Night searcher: I seek her, combing the deep.
I see her. I’ll reach her Cumbrian gleam
tomorrow! Tomorrow? This dog will sleep.
Tonight, together, apart, he shall dream.
Heart, heat, head – the ‘fire triangle’ of poetry 🔥
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And other Wounds I Healed x
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IWH x
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