Dreamscape
The winding
iron stair
spiralling up stonework shaft.
Secret door and dumbwaiter
go up or down to other stairs,
forbidding doors.
Hidden meadows and green valley mazes
where dragons lurk.
An old homestead stolen from Lone Ranger cartoons.
Wood grain on bare feet,
I go from room to room
but always return to turn behind
to the face in the window
and the screams that follow.
Old dreams
of manses and dust-covered cabinets,
antiques and rose-stained glass blown in globes.
A chandalier of dawns and sunsets,
fading spectral colors that will not remain when I wake
to sunlight filtering dustmotes and squares
onto
the lush burgundy carpet.
A bookcase and rolltop writing desk
stuffed with letters
and
other faded papers.
A globe bigger around than I can reach.
On it ancient names dare pronunciation.
Under
"Here There Be Dragons"
ensorcelled serpentine eyes watch,
guarding their parchment trove
with glinty care.