cool dewy crystals brush against my face--
          silver, silken cobwebs in the grass,
           that implore me in accented chords to
        wake again.
        "Here," she says, with the cardinal of the dawn
           light upon her forehead and cheeks, sheening
            on her already bronze legs
        "Today we must find the trail and laugh at the
          thickets. Are you with me?"
        Dusting the dryness of long sleep from my lashes,
          squinting through a milky haze,
           feeling the warm breath of her question so close and decisive.
        "Wanker, we must depart..."