prophēcy and fáith

Lance Sheridan

The doorway to her sleep

She is sleep spelled in her lowly
beach house.
Out of night’s lair the sheep white
clouds
and the dune grass loping and bleating
roughly
as the wind blithely leaps across the
dew dipped sea.
No gull herd or fish school shall flock
before the sunrise.

Sleep good, fair one, slow and deep
in a creek of dreams
and fairy tales.
In a spinney of dingle wood riven
among the sand plum,
came the keel spume from the fisher’s
sloop;
it lay fast and soothed, safe and
smooth from the
bellows of the rushy sea brood.

He harrowed near and wide; fought
the skulks with metal
drawn from his scabbard in the
deep dell moonlight-
he breasted three into the gravest ghosts.
He sought her sanctum sanatorium,
her dreamscape;
the knelling of her bed. He knelt
before her in praise,
in the star sky of…

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Published by peter petterson

Father of four, grandfather of thirteen, and great-grandfather of six. Resides in Taita, Lower Hutt, Wellington, New Zealand. Living happily in retirement and enjoying the company of my many young descendants.

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