wide asleep
active imagination requires a state of reverie
half-way between sleep and waking
-
Carl Jung
the
antique wardrobe is shut snug like
the brass wings of its butterfly
hinges
silk-drapes buff its cool
veneer
as they flutter
at the open window
in
drifts a moth on a bedtime prayer
it puppet-strings round the room
before settling
like grey dust
on the wardrobe’s
mirrored doors
twitching
antennae itch the gloom
with sonar spook the dog
send it tunnelling under
eiderdown
a small key turns in its sleep
unlocking the yap of a
fox in the yard
stretching awake the wardrobe yawns open
glinting hinges unfold into the
moon’s half-light
to a sonata of stray
whimpers &
trombone snores
tiny screws squeak loose
the
moth whirrs through naphthalene vapour
just before the crack of glass on parquet
the clockwork clink of wings
as six brass butterflies
burst
into the cocoon of night
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