A DADA DREAM

A night journey
of a dada dream
sleeps in my eyes
sprouts from vineyards
of a bard's darkness
when a crescent moon
passes over
covering a deep silence
stolen from a wayside
of fallen sandbags
emerging in another world
that felt like a hint of paradise
entangled the last light
of the lunar sky
by the curtained pastimes
in the depth of a hard rain
watering a Paris park shade
by the river Seine
along suburban birch branches
away from the city graffiti walls
where song birds rise
from pastel wet leaves
too embarrassed
in the ninth circle
of geometric designs
reminding me of Mondrian
from a labyrinth of squares
flickering in candles
of my dark lashes
from a gossamer of smoke
extended to a dead end street
in the rain of pungent nature
dazzling by pale green grass
leaving me a river current
of rushing waterfalls captured
by the brush of an artist
in a grove of potted plants
near the expressionist canvas
of another generation.