Leapfrog the dawn
my stealthy mountaineer –
others, enmeshed in the lustrous
pageantry of courtship,
may hurry to mimic
the fashionable, madcap rantings
that dwindle into noiseless rumination
or the rancorous embrace
of a quarrelsome, lackluster bedroom –
while I await my savage, glowing champion,
whose radiance hints at majesty,
dauntless and transcendent. 

An ice-cold sweetness
in my evening mouth,
I bathe in witch hazel
(that devil-water),
uncouth and winsome
as a restless knight,
raw laughter thronging
from my heathen belly –
I quaff the shadows
with my midnight oath:
to quell this callow womb,
and yield no haven. 

Cicadas hum like embers
in the monastery ruins;
a silvered ghost
wends down the terraced vineyard
undiscovered;
Medusa, unrecognizable in her kerchief
of lavender ivy,
drains a vessel of fireflies
and dons the promise of
a sprightly zephyr,
while windmills gasp
in the astringent weather,
and dolphins drowse
like lizards on the waves –
slumbering as at anchor
in the cistern of a dream.