The moon is happy.

There is a willing tide.

An owl

Responding like grandfather

To a change in the weather

Crosses the limits of reflection

Moving confidently

Through his world of dreams.

From where I sit

I can see the dust

Upon those gathered dreams.

It does not brush off easily,

That dust,

Collected after many years

Of dreaming.

The dreams are extra dreams,

Left sitting under the doormat

For an emergency

Or an unexpected friend.