“Dreams my in Horses”

What if dreams were horses

Obloquy, sun of aged paper

Whose sky mirror, ran barefoot white sand

Her Esther spirits, hair titian, crystal as alabaster

Colts and fillies bleached amongst blonde-silver

Escape fire like St. Jeanne’s Orleans crosses,

Whose paint-splotched overalls pollyanna, angelish

Beheld heaven’s horizon, purgatory of shoreline horses;

So, would you take a picture (…only if, no one was there)?

To say, called this AM, melancholy—Tiger Lillies wilting,

Whose amethyst rosaries dreamt reincarnation

Because everyday became prayer;

Departed tide’s garden, so terra ash

Who withdrew her hair, open hands as flowers

Whose banquet of bouquets were alder aphids

Running free, running wild, childless if-innocence;

This colorless nimbus adrift, bereft her pale smoke

Periphery bone marrow, air of snow, with chiffon mist

Whose fortune-teller kissed the fingerprints of your soul,

As grassy knolls below firmament’s wool, cold and Avalon;

Everywhere sterling silver, kids to a witch’s wish

Daydreaming from train cars to blurred distance

Whose metallic film camera once used to click, then wind by wooden docks and coastline,

Forever in a dream, so anyone can be anybody;

Daughter of stone carnations, porcelain stallions

Running in dresses that glimmer like wind chimes,

Whose unrich skin, bled silver and blueish into river’s linen

Thus, is it really a dream if you’re just living;

Once used to think, a dream is a dream is a dream

Float up from one, stepping barefoot as waterfowls over a stony brook garden

Whose magnificence radiated a smile which acknowledged my sinlessness,

So there, the jellyfish float into the air like specters or dandelion hair;

What if dreams my in horses

Neon street of NYC but it’s 20-years later,

Whose magnetations gave sermons from the depths of heartbreak

And as horses go on running, my dreams go on living—forever

 © 2020, A. M. D’Angelo