Night Mares
The ceiling's dark is swivelling to stars,
but something stirs the sea, turns skies tidal:
the nightly mares who call from moon and Mars
and shake the shackle of daylight's bridle.
They plunder each planet with hooves of hell
and dream-stampede across black plains of night,
past Jupiter, silent as a dead bell,
while midnight milk-mists swirl, shining whey-white.
Moonlight churns pale curds from the Milky Way,
snarls clouds around gnarled trees' peridot knots.
The mares will maraud until break of day,
pulverize Pluto to an ink-black blot,
scrape shadows to scar Venus's fair face,
gallop to the outer limits of space.
2 May 2017
Copyright © Charlotte Puddifoot | Year Posted 2017
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