A Dream Left On The Porch Poem by Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III

A Breath of Snow.

Cascaded into the deep,

unfounded void.

posted in the clay willow.



Next to the orange meadow

where the puse Nightingale lays her wings aside,

so she may sing a new religion into the crystal lagoon of pillow kissed cheeks...



A clear path of golden children

drift through the maternal air;

each frail dexterity of wandering light combing the olive warmth.... and her eyes of the blue pepessa



This day is an empress.

With her marigold sceptor

she melts over the pink afternoon

with a cool rain of butterflies.



and still....Each moment serenades me with a glittered blanket of mist.

Stitched with fireflies.



Perhaps this is why I never dreamt of Paris,

Venice,

Andromeda,

or the calm snuggle of living in the center of the pearl horizon.

It's because I taste all of you in the fields of

glass.



In the weeping swoon of the dogwood tree

that farewells the final evening breeze of the summer.



My mouth is nothing more than an atrium..

As I lay my ear to the earth.....

and listen to my mother breathing