nightfall when it’s still and ill-lit,
as the moon kneels
and the mist recites me a dream
I fall in lowering mercy and admit
as the world, unreal,
and imagine the mid-stream
as I fall deeper into the silent
moon and I whisper
into a darkened room before sleep
‘I give my words beyond the nile and
‘I give my words by the river
all into a darkened night to keep…’
and when I wake into the shadowed descent
ripples of the plateau
I cease to dream and I’ll rest,
as the shunned cresses and flowers bent
I abandon the stars aglow
under the shade, there, my nest.
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Pseudopsychosis. 