Midnight paints the in-between with cat’s eye green.
A shroud filled with the form of a giant king:
his beard a cloud, his eyes sealed, hands together
in prayer point to the blue heaven.
Heat ticks in spaces sheltered by the wood
the soft pockets that conceal small creatures
in whiskers and fur, a stealthy retreat
from the sky all too clear. Down a road
that winds through whispers sung from the
shaken reeds a door stands open to let in shadows
as a glass of ale stings and ferments a daytime dream
the scamper of a sleek form woven from straw.