Apricot Breath

The apricot breath of summer passed through my dreams last night
awakening some new desire
- through nodding forests of dandelion clocks
I strode towards some unknown bourne,
the scent of fragrant tomorrows tantalising my nostrils,
my senses quivering with expectation,
pupils dilated to drink in horizonless skies,
my eager heart beating with wild surmise.
What extravagant wonders awaited me beyond the sentinal pines,
what galleons full of mysterious cargoes sailed upon the white-capped sea,
waiting to disembark beautiful maidens and royal heralds of unfamiliar mystery?
Tap, tap, tap, I thought to hear your delicate fingers strum across the
half-opened latch-gate of my heart
but with a mischievous screech the window shutters bade the Moon
peep in upon my dismayed featues:
t'was but the thrumming of the rain I'd heard,
falling from November skies.
Crossing the shadow-pooled floor I made the flapping window shut,
returning shivering to my tangled blankets and sheets,
the dream of summer fled already through some invisible crack in the roof,
a wild ghost blown upon the howling winds that buffetted the world.
Perhaps, by chance or luck, it might be blown all the way
across the sea to Tir na nOg or Hy-Breasil
but I must pass through frozen winter,
clutching the tiny seed of my desire tight against my breast,
nurturing its fragile heat with my own chilled blood,
dreaming of May and her apricot breath,
asleep still in High Summer's Wood.

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