to chase away the night

I hope the sparrow who greets this new day 
sings of shooting stars and the rising sun 
sings of leaving home and choosing to stay 
sings of dew and spider webs freshly spun.
I hope the cricket who has fallen mute
finds shelter in leaves that litter the ground  
finds shelter in bark or under a root
finds shelter beneath a granite cold bed.
I hope the red fox who creeps through brown fern
can avoid the hunter who lives next door
can avoid the bloodhound’s eager concern 
can avoid the grey mouse’s bloated form.
I hope the green day brings with it fresh eyes
to chase away the dreams black from this night.  

insomnia always has a reason

setting moon with  trees
Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down?
2 Henry IV (3.1.8-9)
to sink
she sank --
simple, see?
black silk rippled only once
her rapid descent
a clicking trot --
from flippers
to feathers
and now
to feet;
toes in muck
she strains to walk
the box maze lit  
with golden tea-cups;
at the center
the maître d'
serves her flies
she spits out nails  
that spin like lightening bugs;
she slaps and runs
but can’t escape
midnight moon’s final jest
and with a gasp she comes to wake.
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on. . . 
The Tempest (4.1.168-169)
Day 14 of NaPoWriMo encouraged a bit of dream play.