Wild Imaginings
Poetry
Blankets strewn
and feathers
flown from the
untamed pillow
roam the boudoir.
Let me gaze
at the barely
open tunnel of
the slumber lasting.
His mouth gapes
and rowdy
leather leaves
knotted with
vine trails
stream and float.
And when he
wakes, I gulp.
Where have
you been?
His eyes ask me.
Untethered roots
slide from
muddied sheets
as his form
cranks upward
like old chains –
those blankets
are wild as
cavemen in spring.
And I watch
(transfixed now)
tattered foliage
drift across
the bedspread
to tumble
on the floor
with leaf-mold
and spent twigs:
A heap of
garden’s lost
growth.
Then I fetch
a rake to
clear those
unruly dreams –
wolfish imaginings
best swept
under the rug.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved
