We walk together through
an invisible wall, a soft bruise
of jasmine on our skins.
Scorched on her mind,
this is early morning
in the meadow when sleep
and dreams have been sold.
In the meadow where light
floods her face, love embraces
dew drops and the river
overflows with the spring rains.
In the meadow where fragile blossoms
are poised like delicate moths
amid the hum of carpenter bees.
In the meadow where the evolving day
awakens her hidden dancer within.
Gordon Mason, Scotland and Spain