Three Poems

A sill of worn green-painted wood,
A window open before dawn:
Barefoot in the mild air I stood
To watch above the starred horizon

A swallowtail of dusty gold
Stream upward from the comet's eye,
While in an unfamiliar, tumbled
Bed in the room behind, you lay

Until I called you and you came
And by the window took my hand.
What powers calibrate the dark
Reflector of the dreaming mind?

What fine adjustment brought us there
And let me call you from your sleep
Into my dream, to seem to share
...