My Mr. Sandman Dream

You fall asleep under your wide wicker hat; a
long fallen tree, sun bleached white and grey as gulls, battered by waves
for your pillow,
The contours of your body fitted to the earth, supported and held
by every grain of sparkling sand, you sink into the warmth, your
breathing rhythmic with the tides, pulling back to expose hidden treasures, 
rushing forward to fill up all the empty places,
caressing and smoothing, pressing and rippling; 
our dream is made true
when you sit up and smile because we are really here.
Song
Dreams
Artist
The Cranberries
Writers
Noel Hogan, Dolores O’Riordan
Licensed to YouTube by
UMG (on behalf of Island Records); CMRRA, LatinAutor – Warner Chappell, LatinAutorPerf, Warner Chappell, UNIAO BRASILEIRA DE EDITORAS DE MUSICA – UBEM, BMI – Broadcast Music Inc., PEDL, and 10 Music Rights Societies

Happy Anniversary to my husband, best friend and lover, who has explored and discovered and walked this planet earth with me the whole time. Life began with you.

Pine Needle…Bed Rock… Paper Cut… Ranunculus

“Needlepoint and Paper-Cuts” #1 (Ranunculus) mixed media by Kay Jay, March 2020
“Ranunculus” #1 (photograph) by Kay Jay, March 2020

My Love… is paper scissors bedrock, the potential of blank paper.

Same as knowing what it feels like to be a lodgepole pine and stand still in forests, while lovers carve hearts and initials

into me.

The trunk that forms a swollen burl after repeated shocks,

protective in the evidence of how obvious how innocent how intentional how sensitive

and adaptive

in the face of,

in light of… those arabesques

our pronouncement

and commitment

expressed through lucid but deep cuts

until I become your sweet cambium peels…

and sappy;

Reaching a perfect pitch requiring fire and heat to release…

upon a floor, blanketed in a cushion

of soft and sharp needles, patient

dripping sticky

sugar water; the same nutrition and poultice that eases you

more useful than firewood

I am revolving doorways and bay windows with bench seats that secretly open into chests full of books, the eaves and the rafters and the beams, and fences to climb over and railroad ties;

you chewing on my most succulent insides

each disturbance of habitat

sending sudden and bursting new

shoots

instinctive

resilient,

self aware and

persevering…

our roots; connected intertwined traveling

to and away, tethered and anchored,

from the rising and expanding

(history)

of seeing

of witnessing everything

change,

while Matisse acquires many paper cuts to float above his quilts.

He makes his choice of pink table cloths and lemons, goldfish swimming like tangerine crescents, caresses his favorite dove, never mentioning turnip country again,

or her flatness,

or her darkness,

or her wetness.

Instead he hands each intimate shape to Lydia and points, “There.”

She places his silhouettes, like she does her feet according to his dance steps,

a choreography set to the plunking piano keys as played

by elbows

making

love

notes

in bold colors.

Notes as crushing on

as charmed by

as composed and spontaneous as ranunculus

that speak easy underground same as do

victorian tea gardens.

He listens to how

his fingers fit like a glove into a pair of scissors no thanks and in part due to the industrial revolution

and dozes off,

slips

into dreams, a future

where your radio jazz

accompanies a bouquet

that throws confetti from my lap

in order to stop what I am doing to set them in water.

The Thelonious Monk “I love You” (Sweetheart of All My Dreams) music audio is being posted on Stitched in Stone for No Commercial Purposes. (Expanded Edition) ℗ Originally released 1964. All rights reserved by Columbia Records, a division of Sony Music Entertainment Released on: 2002-08-19 Composer, Lyricist: Arthur Fitch Producer: Teo Macero Drums: Ben Riley Composer, Lyricist: Kay Fitch Composer, Lyricist: Herbert Lowe Bass: Larry Gales Tenor Saxophone: Charlie Rouse