[thisislife]

I had a dream of grey eyes,
Lacquered and longing,
Burrowed softly into the brow of a Green Man
Who stepped with roots unfurling from his legs
And the lilacs savagely pruning against him.
It was a rainy day in April when he came to me.
And the storm plashed against his back as though he was a workhorse,
With bellows driven by lightning lashes,
And his moss-skin weeping water across the city streets.
In the community gardens.
Along the ravine’s spine.
And that buried wild-thing split through the concrete
While the trees shivered and cracked
And the ravine in some lights turned to an ancient,
Trying to climb from its grave,
The clouds rumbling, shifting, mixing its sorrow’d past and prospects —
The vicious taming of the river’s run —
Dropping it from the sky.
Amidst this the Green Man stood,
Rain breaking against his antlers,
His crude nails scraping the rocks in passing.

And then the passing.
And then he was gone.

I had a dream of his grey eyes
Gazing into the night sky —
Deep as the pit he stood in,
Brooding as the evening’s redness —
Before he was swallowed in the sleekness.
He was caught up in the design.
He was beat back and bent down
And set under dominion,
At long last,
By the breathtaking sweetness of a man’s mind.