Last night I dreamed
of my mother's room.
Don't resist the colors,
the pearl and lapis
of vast space
just before dawn.
Some waves of awareness
can be sad.
Let them.
At the heart of joy
a silent tear,
and in each tear
the crystal sky.
Childhood long
forgotten, bathed
in sacred memory.
0n her dresser, sunlight
the gold of longing,
Schubert's Rosemund
on her radio.
A porcelain clock
from Vienna, silver
hand-mirror with initials
like transparent lilies,
here an M, there a K.
The China figurine
of a lady in sun hat
and blue gown
that somehow flows still
in a summer breeze
Painting, Joaquín Sorolla, 1909