Thou tune my lute strings and dirge octave wings
To reach stellar light trapped by net of night
And, on a dream brink, when foul figment springs
Masked in white ghost, I woke in shriek horn fright;
Thou make me sunk n’ hid in wish-well pits
Shivered in echoes of my body shell;
Canst the covert twirling wind be thou that knits
My long hair and whispers the moonlight spell
Gazed through the wave tier of my mind’s edge bark?
Wretched, I don’t know better but to love thee–
Galactic, future, cloaked word of veiled arc
I am the power and crushed ripple plea
For; I am a dream with a twist of real
Words, so sincere to concur thy zeal.
My Mind’s Edge Bark–mind is like a ship on the open sea in the dark, moving through the dreams, altered states of consciousness caused by a daydream….
Bark, Shakespeare’s time = ship;
Modern neuroscience: the cerebral cortex surrounds the cerebral hemispheres much like the rippled bark of a tree (‘cortex’ actually means ‘bark’).