O' wanderer

When did you
let sleep rest so heavily on your lids
that you closed your eyes against the day,
to open them again as the moon
through clouded memories,
to the dusk of your watchfulness,
returning to me each night
as a lover to my window.
To dream to birds song and the golden
light of morning , filtered red
through closed lids.
Warm in your nest of bloody veins
and nerves resting as feathers,
like the hair that rests upon your face.
Do not be disturbed, by these
endless sun drenched days of madness
and light ,or carried away to some
distant horizon as one
of a cloud of migrating birds.
Rest in the shade of sweetness
under tender new spring buds.