Nomad Writer

There is a secret place

Over the nebulous highway

Where my mind meets

Fusions of supernovae

Feathering into a twilit marsh

Precious gems cradled

Within its bosom—

The collective of untouched ideas

Fresh with the dew

Glistening from willows

Which hang their heads low

Beneath the sanguine flush

Of the moon

Nurturing the treasures

That I’ve found

Foreign and ethereal

Though I’ve been here

Several times before

Only to have them

Burst like glittering shards

From the battering intrusion

Of a woodpecker’s call

As my dreams collapse

Under the weight

Of the rising sun