it was not I within the glass
it was my mother's face alas
a face so changed from mine I'd known
I thought the years had turned to stone
and where were all my innocence
my glad beliefs and magic pence
that I had saved to travel through
a timeless world where dreams come true?
not anything inside my hand
no moment's evidence of sand
just grayish pulp to make me damn
the heartless proof I think, I am?
the dream is gone and still as ice
that glaciers down some mountain splice
and I am carried underneath
with stones to cling to by my teeth
weather forecast
always before the final terror
a luscious peace
not yet the signal bell
not yet the swift alarm
the sleeper has another hour
the worker has a holiday
still eases the dawn forward
still comes the morning toward
open the cities' piers
open frontiers
an early spring
being everything
the last kiss like the first
the best without the worst
always after the initial fear
a new release
not yet the sharp compel
not yet the threatened harm
the body has a lazy power
the brain has an agile way
so warm the fireside within
so rich the harvest every bin
secure the outer walls
secure the stalls
a deep serenity
without enmity
the first signs like the last
the future in the past
measured interval