Irish Eyes from Italy (A Dream of Sleeping)

10/14/09

I'm inside a raindrop, and the sky is blue,

and leaves are falling green onto a coal-red ground,

and I'm happy to be where nothing could ever be better.

I'm a raindrop sleeping in the middle of the way in the centre of the day,

and my arms aren't lonely and my tongue's not tasteless and my mouth's not empty

and there's a blanket on my feet.

It should be cold, but it's burning and it's perfect

and I didn't know your skin was capable of so much steam.

This is a wonderful dream!

I'll lie here with you, raindrop,

we'll evaporate each other

with our eyes closed

and hearts and minds

and stunned to unbelieving mouths

wide open.

We'll never have to wake up;

no one's ever tried to sleep like this before.

There's a beautiful world in here, there's a sea of Ireland's favorite green,

it's looking at me and I hurt my face by smiling too hard and too often.

The Irish eyes from Italy are speaking, but they're too far away from me, asleep.

Settle in, raindrop, get warm and turn to steam.

Sheets and lips and eyes and sighs and endless fields of White and Green.

I laughed and held her close anew.

She said she'll never tell a soul of what she's seen.