In Dreamtime of a Hundred Waters
Staying in the Home
of the Mad Dane Niels
was never of this world.
With paint splatter softening walls
and bulbous pillars allowing Ascension–
where one could be licked by the leaves of Maple
and stroked by the branches of Arbutus.
Or descending
on footfalls of rebar spring,
arching, spiraling, rounding down
to stroll beneath ceilings of wooden strip cacophony
with nooks and crannies
in which to find both solitude and rest.
A swinging gate,
like the flutter of breath
that lovers make,
when nearly awake.
Like cookies & cream,
or icing on cake.
A wall-to-wall of playfulness
where colored cement becomes a cornerstone,
and the cracked are reborn as tiles on a wall,
and bottle caps radiate as jewels
in the fragrant tiara of infinite reflection.
A BuVoo, Hundred Water Swirl
cascading over the Edge
like a Viking ship, aflame,
finding Passage to Seas
beyond this Island of Foam.
