Dream Drop Distance

I see  
through fallen lashes  
of December frost.  
It's all black now.  
 
Coffee beans  
of stars cured by cinnamon flake  
soaked through olive oil in a candlelit jar.  
 
The ember from silver ladel  
tipped to my cup.  
 
I feel fur of white wolf  
curled full on the sky.  
 
Giddy now.  
 
The soltice drinks the pools that lapped my tongue.  
Those hummingbirds in the checker bark  
coil in frailty  
in so neither had the wing for Honduras.  
 
I touch the same  
on my featherless shoulder blades knotted in bowlines sprung on panfish dropped from school.  
 
Deterred from nomads  
in gypsy floral lace  
and dreary-eyed nymphs by Mississippi ferry disappeared  
in the showlight  
that crinkles in bows across the aquarelle  
when I saw she dipped her waist in the planets  
as I wrote by the red curtain.  
 
Wiping my fallen lids from the dew rattled from the vapors there,  
I see  
 
it's all black now  
 
after all.