1
the only sound is night
i walk around inside a dream
touching the small faces of things
the heating stove in the living room
lifts up its eyes
looking for winter
2
madrugada
another name for dawn
along a thin wafer of horizon
it begins
there is no erasure of night
it is the timeless opening and closing
of a single hand
3
she was dreaming of water
a small butterfly she flew
along the surface
her wings touching softly the quiet water
wingdust and water mingling
in air stained by the moon
© lance henson 1987