Amanuensis to a dream –
a butler opening doors
with white gloves and
careless amusement.
Playing Pluto to Saturn’s
tune, the cloudless cosmos
settles in for dancing and drinks,
before retiring to deep.
All that is good drips heavy,
drunk on its own promise.
A shimmering green shrinks, succumbing
to the blue expanse, wan and
pilgriming. Empathy returns
to roost in harbor-homes,
and portraits replace selfies
gone bad. Smog gives way
to fog, sitting still, but
lifting for better songs.
Nothing more than minstrels,
casting notes like seeds on desperate
soil, pages of the best book,
written in our own history.
Image from here
Rob's Lit-Bits 
Rob, I always learn words when I read your poetry 🙂 There’s some amazing imagery here. I love to visualize what I’m reading. Your writing is like brain candy for me in that respect! It’s making me want to play with the words with paint on a canvas and see what happens. That’s fun! (Nothing sadder than a selfie gone bad, by the way).
Well shucks on a stick, Melissa, thanks! By the way, almost all selfies have that potential, don’t they?
Ahh, very true….