Dreams

   The lantern your friend made you

    – a whimsical clay acorn

     with its solar panel –

    stands out on the garden table

    soaking sun;

    and one fibril of spun synthetic thread

    from your scarf

    has caught in it:

    a fine hair glinting turquoise sheens

    as the breeze tugs and lulls;

    and lantern and man-spun filament

    conspire

    to whisper of the soul in us

    that must bring forth beauties

    no natural thing

    could

    dream

    of.

 - Norman Morrissey