The Would Be

Never to ignore the day, to see not
the secret sway of the leave's quiet moods.
Ignore the dreams, the day swims in water
and drowns the moon as if only good
were of this promised nature and the chalice
as warm as the wine possessing the nerves.
The round curves of the skull, callous, curious,
deserving of a further horizon- a horizon without Words!
Who deserves and what deserves the soft chair beneath
must ill tempt the hours with sweet threats
and nourish the drunken fever of someday
and if not- what luck could ever be?
The mystery, anchored in midnight, the true Sun
blasting in black pulses- these windows, these galaxies!