black rose

would we
as children, recognize
each other

did not then know what
for looking was, i

a reason?)in these
forests, in sweetsmelling
streams –
turning to footfalls
in spring frost, see

a dream for a thing different
than any other
grown
to its natural

,or in itself despairing
singular
beauty

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

like knives, shadows crawl

when in an inert room
a dreamer hangs
and fills the gathered orchestra
with his mind
the pallor and wan
scrape like dusty brooms
that sweep the ochre of Eden
into Night

the worlds outside the dreamer
lay asleep
and each of those sleep dreamers
of their own
the stars between the galaxies
of each
spin light of promised return
to dawn reborn

tho’ in the time before the waking
gather
the impossible’s as solid
as any stone

belief: a gem that glitters
as any bauble
magic: a diadem truer
than purest gold

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.