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Prelude To Nomere's Dream

Polly Nomere tosses and turns like a svelte tempest borne in her myrrh and pine scented linen sheets. Outside the basalt and obsidian walls of the gated community Pan Asean waves are growling hungry phantoms of Night, and she knows this, yes indeedy weedy she knows. All good princesses are born into the manner of second sight.
(((The blue ships the seaslips violet slippers o'er anemone toes the snowdrop woes recede, rescinds the river's sweeping bends, race the raftering skies, grows the climbing coral trees to multicolor highrise breeze.)))
"Wonder, where are your lovely hands now?"
(A wry sniffle from the evening shadows, is it so, can that truly be Bark Doglas at long last back on the trail?)
Polly sings softly to herself as though in a dream where she walks through mind forests on a starlit evening. The North Star seems to dance through the Panasean darkness where Bark paces in place like the shadows he has been known to chase.

Poetry by Chaucer Whethers