Beauty flows beneath
the skin of this world,
singing with the nightingale,
whispering like the sea.
The bitter-bare has flowered,
and in the trees, spring shines
through the wind.
Ask, and I will blow your dreams,
hatched from dragons’ eggs,
coursing with the sap of the moon,
into the mists of summer.
For it will come,
and love will light the cool shade
of the garden with heart music,
and forests will grow, sweet as honey,
into the open arms of the sky.
Dream, blue and running,
and may you never see the ship
that founders on the shore,
or the red rose fall in russet sighs
among the raindrops.