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