dream field

Pardon these golden sparks

that leap and twirl and flit.

A strange and ghost-like whirlwind

has caught me in the midst of a new fervency,

And I dare not ask you

"Come to the core of the thunderbolt."

And I could not read aloud your palm

"A honey chior, comb, and blossom."

For I am cursed with sinful rhythm of the heart

and when I get too close

I am turned away to my own palm

"Gaiety in the firefly

in the fire,  in the hot strands of milky light."

In a dream field I do expire.