Through the fading of a fantasy,

And the mining of subjects untried but true,

I have struck a vein of light,

For the cold burn of a winter's dawn,

As autumn's nights I had to solemnly salute,

For allowing me this find

 

A strong diver set against a mosaic moon,

Caught mid-flight, into torrents of silver he sees,

The mountainous clouds applaud,

Aqueous serenades wrap around his ears,

Enticed, invited by hands and waves countering the breeze,

Diving while his spirit soars

 

And looking over, what there, is transpiring,

Is the beauty that is his dream,

Her hands  fumbling in a veil,

A whisper issued, collapsing on into the texture newly sewn,

Though folds of feelings, neither could describe,

As bloodless, his heart grows pale

 

A love wrought of a dream as loneliness demands,

In the silvery veil of the waters he knows and doesn't,

Immersed, infatuated with his desire for the deep,

For in grace, never to rise again,

Not to flail to stay afloat,

I feel to be the diver of my sleep.