Poetry Excerpt from the Book.

All dahlias speak 
Of June’s brief nights,
When I would lie in bed
As dust mites danced 
The golden shafts
Of sunlight’s gentle tread.
And there while bees 
Still bumbled past,
I’d seek the shaded cove
With ferry moored for me to sail
To dreamtime’s sacred grove.
But sleep in shoes of jewelweed
And gown of Queen Anne’s lace
Would never share 
Her berth with me,
Or let me glimpse her face.

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