When I Lay Down
A tapestry of clouds
Gathered like blue-gray smoke
That bellowed from a cigar
Made in Havana
A sea of mountains
Rise up like Mythological Gods and
Jagged edges made of
Dark-brown German chocolate
A gust of peppermint air
Shakes loose the weak branches of
A wild sycamore tree
Then a jubilant display of radiant
Light burst through bashful clouds
Awakening a field of orange-gold poppies
When I lay down,
Both feet are planted firmly on the ground
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2007
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