13 hours of sleep

reposing in the dream’s garden

drugged, hung limp limbs on silvery twine

knocking wooden joints, a deceptive progression

gently-gifted words have her flung just too high

stirring in the dream’s garden

light bouncing (circular path?)

it’s more than just a beautiful thing

the innards and out, but they don’t see themselves

risen in the dream’s garden

has the iridescent-scaled dragon

it breathes hesitantly and

falls back into frigid repose

in,

a precious flowering-plant

who never bears fruit, and unseen

printed, below, below, below

and unseen

in,

cut-short patches of endless blades

of leaves, and the parsnips reach

with guilt, into the charity of the earth

and they apologize

in,

steamrolled blue sheets, strung webs over

the smoky mirror lined by stones

the image returns, returns, returns

to a single pebble; it is like the sea