For the dverse prompt, sleep.
The stars blaze silently,
while moon sets in a pool of gold,
and I listen to the watery ripple of the poplars,
lullaby-rocking the house where day folk live,
and trip, night time, barefoot after dreams
of sunken pearls and moonstones,
glowing in a sea king’s hands
or rowan berries, glowing bright as flame
where visions dance.
Stars wheel on the eternal sea,
tides of sparks that ravel up the day’s cares,
and drop our thoughts like pebbles
into the bottomless well of sleep.