"Be not still, muse, remember our instead

renewed waking dream and bestir yourself."

In the sovereign freehold land of your bed

you turn and twitch in some far off dreamscape.

Softly asleep you murmur, "Eureka,"

slowly turn your back, the hill of your hip

making a valley of your waist, "Speak of

this," and so I am.  "Drift with me blindly

On the ocean of the universe, see

the pretty colors." I see you kindly

while in dreaming you inspire poetry

in me.