The Dessert

Upon a crust of silvered cloud,

Where painted skies are dawn-endowed,

A fragile saucer lifts the sun—

A golden dream just half-begun.

It trembles like a liquid star,

Sent down from galaxies afar,

Warmed by the breath of comet-light

To chase the shadows of the night.

A pastry boat of buttered glass,

Where waking spirits softly pass,

It holds the morning in its cup,

And bids the weary world look up.

One gentle breath of crystal spoon,

A sudden rise of afternoon,

The pastry ripples like a rising dune,

Flaking to ash beneath a painted moon.

And sweetness spills, a hopeful gleam,

To wake the earth within a dream.