Cactus

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These days, the visions

linger into the daylight;

 

grim harvesters ride the land.

Sun colors flower in the breath

of lunar chrome.

 

Tell me that story again,

nightflower;

is it me?

 

A bursting, jubilant wildfire

of crisp apple color

sleeps by day

in her casket of aridgreen

stained leather leaves.

 

Turning earth adores eternity,

a nightblind owl, burrowed

under celestial soil.

 

She blossoms

in background radiation.

 

He rolls over,

laying his worldshade

on the houses and the rooms.

 

Her folded hands

await the doom

of day; she dreams

 

while mornings blast and weep.

Eyes of night

peel her thorny blankets back

with the desire of darkness

to a defenseless, finery of petals.

 

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© 1993, 2004, Dan Jensen <djensen@kaweah.com>