Life With Horace

poetry & essays



She pried my eye open,
brilliant Venus did, balanced
just above the pine spikes,
tired of waiting for me
to get on with dreaming.
Around her clear sky,
meteors done,
still hours away from light.
Deaf to her message, I went
back to bed and snoring dogs,
to dream of love
across a bog reached
on a path of floating stones,
until I balked and jumped
to solid ground.
She knew this one
was in the queue, and
did not want it buried
in the dreamless part of sleep,
but felt vividly, and
have me wake, warned.