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.