An open gate, an invitation —

sleek bodies gleam

in pale moonlight;

Beneath the arch

and past the vines,

they slip over the lawns.

I drift, I sleep,

a silver mist upon

my eyes —

I miss their call

Softly, they tread

on slender limbs

light steps chime like distant bells;

Their heads are crowned

in bones and velvet

starlight gilds their movements.

I drift, I sleep,

a silver mist upon

my eyes —

I miss their call

Gentle the heart,

quiet the tongue,

observe the drifters as they pass;

Extend the bough,

bestow the bloom, and

spread a cloth in welcome

Alert me, wake me

to their swift darkling arrival —

and together, we shall dream…

–C.Birde