Gates of Ivory Horn

Comfort in darkness, terror in light.
One dream prettily defies the norm
And unwinds happily through the night.

We have returned to Canada. Spring
Is lifting the wind outside small shops.
Villagers I know, the one who sings,

The squat park ranger, the musicians,
The motorcycle-loving owner
Of the Appletree Cafe, visions

Like eccentric characters themselves,
Glimpse of the long lake at green sunset,
Those shops with quiddities on their shelves,

Fill me with love, my heart like a sail
Curved, taut, catching the wind that it needs
To have its chance to prove it can't fail

To pull this slim, swift, single-hulled dream
Across the silver lake darkening
At the edges, fore and aft, the gleam

Of the eye of awareness centered
On one momentary, shining breeze
Weakening, wakening, entering

The dark of the small autumn bedroom
Far off, in the canyoned desert night
Between the gates of mountains that loom

Into an empty sky, contesting
To be first to catch the morning light.
I'm back. No more dreaming, just resting.