(c) Silk Heritage Trust; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Through morn’s pane, sunlight lines this sleeper’s eye,
A burning beam flutt’ring upon dawn’s dark,
Light strokes Eye-lid, lightly, as if to pry
A cracked door crafted in carnal bark.

The eye, encased, enclosed, must have its lid
Rolled away each morn, as allowed to breathe,
For if encased, in darkness will remain hid,
And sleeper’s breath to death will surely leave.

A new drop of dew upon a green grass,
Absorbs the light and in its whole contains
What it takes, reflecting all in its mass,
Will yet so rapt heave on high its remains.

So the eye, that queer inverted mirror,
Reflects all that enters askew anew,
No less vain liars or lovers held dear,
The eye, filled with light, spews up what is true.

As on charged keeps, this organ must keep eye,
For to reflect, retain, is in its realm;
Love knocks, enters, lodges, leaves, yet won’t long lie,
If Deceit lies and Love is not the helm.

So pupils must heed lights, heralds on lawns,
Sounding love through such orbs into heart, soul,
Beck’ning the coming of a son soon spawn,
A babe but new-born in a stable stole.

Eyes, flesh: the green grass which flower to fade,
So this heart and soul must daily wake,
Let in the Light, roll up the shade,
Remove the stony heart that makes men rakes.

Then, like the light that rolls back the covers
Of sleeper’s eyes, Light, as a babe in pen,
Thaws this heart’s cold cover like a lover,
Keeper of soul from sin, the devil’s den.

Broom Snow
Written at the Desert Schooner,
& The University of Nevada, Las Vegas
Las Vegas, Nevada
November 28-30, 2015

Painting: “The Sunbeam”
By J.B. Payne,
Oil on canvas, 1890

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