THE LOTUS DREAMER

A stablehand, a stable-boy,
He walked home smelling of horses,
He wore smears of dung on his hands and face.
As he walked, he shuffled and stared,
But the lake was shiftless silent still.
He sighed all the way home.

He dreamt of softness and of touch,
He nestled beside the scratchy hay,
When he woke up- another day;
He’d listen to the horses neigh,
He’d bang and bustle about with buckets
Of mush and fodder that the horses fed;
He’d bend and split his tailbone.
He was the stable-boy with the sturdy hand.

Coldness invigorated his belly today,
Today would never diminish to yesterday,
He would see the flowers today.
The lake would people with lotus blossom,
And their pink petals would frailly dance;
And I will rest my head there,
And my neck against the leafiness ,
And the water will cool my form,
And wash away my stains and smell;
And I will float lazily on smooth as stone
As I fall into dreams of standstill time.