On a hill beside the lake milkweed pods
split silently, taking days to create an improbable
cotton field caught in light of a low slung Maine
late October sun. Growing to white gold before
sunset, before a cold clear night when hunter's
moon, a magic naked diver, hangs bewitched and bare
above the water. The bashful moon waits for
a cloud to cover her. The night waits for the
slightest breeze when milkweed seeds may drift off
unseen, as faces in a dream you know you
had but can't remember. Seedpods open as
two small hands in supplication. Signal: Please,
let this breeze carry us to fertile ground, not lakes
or this dream is one from which we never wake.
I did better in posting this time.With reference to the previous post: the sun was bright and warm before the picture window this morning at 6:13 AM. I carefully avoid adding any porn.