A Man of Simple Dreams

( After Lord Byron )  
 
To wake of morning, half-light crowning—
spitting flash through arthritic trees;
a spindly flame, waxing stronger  
 exposing ivory skin of frosted field.
 
An aroma, roasted kernel twists
  as cats, entwined amid feet;
timorous stems of shadow retreat
   across leaf-strewn concrete.  
 
To hear the yodel of migrating loon
  depart winter-tide for passion
disrupts me not, despite their omen;
  armed guards of snow, capturing    
 
the garden, sparing no green survivor
 save evergreens, their boughs adorned—
pearls before swine; Venus Fly-
 trapped, awaiting inevitable thaw. . .  
 
aftertastes of solitude, escaping  
 ivory towers o're time's terra firma—
until such, I shall in patience remain  
 a man of simple dreams.  
~  
 
For J-with love