The doorway to her sleep
She is sleep spelled in her lowly
Out of night’s lair the sheep white
and the dune grass loping and bleating
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
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,
the knelling of her bed. He knelt
before her in praise,
in the star sky of…
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