Spinning Sleep

(for N.K.) Gossamer thoughts, gossamer things weaved as sliken nightgowns with quarter moon kisses, lurking with left handed promises with secret eyes and au pair wishes. In morning memories, school girl, you and sun rise, maybe mantraing,"Thy will be done." Gossamer days, gossamer nights envision dawn and dusk as tenacious myths begotten by Genesis and Revelation. Spider (Greek astronomers gave no constellation) Mayan's Orion* for celestial landings and only seen at a bird's eye viewing or mountains or planes---you always succumb to "Thy will be done" by your demure designs. Gossamer thoughts, gossmer things, love, you, too, shall pass, from a school boy's mind, not thinking of you until dawns efface old webs and dusks become Penelope's face of quiet desperation, imploring,"Where? When? Why?" I'm now spinning webs spelling,"Goodbye, goodbye." While expiring, your nightgown creases... You're sleeping Arachne's and Selene's schemes with gossamer dreams and gossamer needs, while stars weave around quarter moon promises.