Nebula is paltering with
his bucket of water
banging it against
the buckets of other children.
And soon the clamour
of their noisy gang
beats the rhythm
for the tripping water.
I’m reaching out for you,
I harvest a few drops
I come to sprinkle their infant dew
— foolishly scattered
by those not old enough to know
it’s later to be sought out —
upon your face.
Your eyes are looking through the eyelids,
indulging in the fresh juice
of heaven
heedless of the azure curtains drawn
around you,
heedless of the windows, the walls, the wails.
You’re running faster
than any seabird
You’re playing jollier
than any child
You’re seeing farther
than any eye
sleeping, dreaming, motionless