DAYDREAMS

On the early side of day,

sapphire ribbons unwind

from a whistle-clear sky

to clothe glorious trumpets

of dazzling Morning Glories,

which stagger the eye

with their transient,

frail enchantment.

Willow boughs nod

responses to the muted

voice of the wind as it

shakes the perfume

from a rose. The scented

memory floats softly past,

elusive as a damselfly.

At the sun’s zenith

soft, tumbling cumuli

gather their ermine robes

and melt like day-shy stars.

The song thrush rests,

drowsing in the warmth,

as I daydream, in tune with

life’s eternal rhythms.