When I lay Down

A tapestry of clouds
Gathered like blue-gray smoke
That bellowed from a cigar
Made in Havana

A sea of mountains
Rise up like Mythological Gods and
Jagged edges made of
Dark-brown German chocolate

A gust of peppermint air
Shakes loose the weak branches of
A wild sycamore tree

Then a jubilant display of radiant
Light burst through bashful clouds
Awakening a field of orange-gold poppies

When I lay down,
Both feet are planted firmly on the ground