4:00 pm
Siesta
&
Dream
1
Sweet wet bark bleeds until sack-
cloth binds the wounded rowan.
Claws trapped in the sacking, the sap-
sucker family points accusatory beaks.
They have fluffed up their feathers.
Red beads on the mountain ash: the young girl
offers me a rosary of bright red berries.
Bitter on the tongue,
sunset’s first flourish tinting my dream.
2
Tochtli gnaws at the moon’s white skull.
Murciélago exits his cave with night
tightly wrapped beneath his wings.
Tezcatlipoca: a stone knife in an iron hand.
At the cathedral’s shallow edge,
the golden tree bends like a rainbow,
exposing its roots as the end draws near.
Cycle upon cycle: dead men’s gifts,
these spirits walking over night’s waters.
The dream cat’s round green eye
staring out of the window,
willing this willow pattern world
to end its cat and mouse game:
darkness within darkness.
rogermoorepoet 
Thanks, allison: I redid the photos on this one. The words stayed the same, though.
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Hi Roger, and good morning. I like reading your poetry, am glad to dip into it regularly, to let my thoughts be ruffled by your rosary of bright, red reflections. –@
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Thanks, Tanya. The church of Santo Domingo has a large gold inlaid tree of life just inside the door. It a World Heritage site and incredibly beautiful.
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At the cathedral’s shallow edge,
the golden tree bends like a rainbow,
exposing its roots as the end draws near.
Continuing to be fascinated and moved by this piece, Roger. I especially loved the quoted line!
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