Sam Silva


The practical life eludes me
...the dishes to be washed
are plastic or paper
stuck with crust
in a rubbish bin

...when buds give forth
their bloody eruptions
or in winter's icicles
frozen at the drip

...either way...I stuff my head in a pillow
watch the garden's window
through the corner of my eye

and dream those dreams of a soulful heaven
and rise at two
and lie down at eleven

and fall asleep
to a lullaby.

Sam Silva © 2015