Clare Hornsby



home: poetry

My universe, twelfth of August

My universe is an ancient bowl of transparent porcelain
Washed with water-blue across its curve
The sides are green with hills and dark with trees
Spattered with flowers in every season

I float at the bottom
In love with the circling wind
Above me hovers my falcon
He watches me, for a sign

Across, above, by day, the blue cloth
Like an awning at the amphitheatre
Screens us from the sun
The night is a blanket of silk so fine
The moon and stars shine through
It is a cover that keeps the earth warm until morning

I turn to lie on my front so my wings can grow while I sleep
And then, for my dream, they are grown

And I fly.