Well water fills a mirror, drifting clouds,
a version of the sky of futures past;
they fly too fast for us to say goodbye.
The water spills and fills a bucket brim-
full of dreaming, drifting meads, where you
and I walk while the wild blue horses run.
Red the light that fills the dreaming sky,
and green the grass beneath the flying feet
that race where dark and dusky half light meet.
See how the silver mirror shows the way
to fox-hedge tangled bramble blackbird lair,
where dreams lie sleeping all the live-long day,
and when night comes stars blossom in our hair.