The Quiet Time
1. Hidden
On nights like this
I have nothing to offer anybody except
a jar full of fireflies.
In a field of memory,
we are watching meteor showers.
That was the night our dreams began to fly
to the stars on Orion’s belt.
The truck was filled with hay.
We were singing with
the aurora streaming across the sky.
One day I will find the right words,
and the visions we have held for so long
will leap into the sky.
2. Golden Koi
On a tropical island,
an angel skin coral grotto dreamed of golden fish.
Around a star in the Andromeda galaxy,
a blue planet was born.
In the water of a golden sea,
a blue frog leaped out of the water.
A comet carried messages to a new constellation,
crossing eons of time
along the trajectories of asteroids.
Centuries later, my dreams,
like golden koi made of starlight
started leaping to a new world.
3. Wind Dance
She danced with her reflection
in the window –
her friends in little boxes.
One woman danced with a teddy bear
and another with a broom.
The music flew through a wind tunnel,
the harmonies, like a flock of birds
fluttered against each other.
That night, in a dream
we waltzed on a polished wooden floor,
thigh to thigh,
with pivot turns at the end of every phrase.
4. Niagara Sunset
The sunset tonight is like Niagara Falls
a memory of the northern sky.
The river cascading over bedrock
and underwater, many miracles.
Years ago, we walked into a cave
under a waterfall,
stalactites dripping from the walls
reflecting lantern light.
You were a prince; I was an ingenue.
Somewhere, a starfish is dreaming
turquoise in salt water –
pentacles, banded fish, a meteor,
a heart insisting on staying open
to the beauty in the world.
5. The embryo begins to dream
On the other side of a thick cloud
an embryo begins to dream.
I wrote down everything
on the inner walls of stones,
a vision in the distance between spinning stars.
The universe was a labyrinth,
a symphony, an enigma.
On a love night
inside a nest of gumwood trees
two cells dance, swim and unite.
Above them, stars tumble into the future.
Before sunrise you can hear
music inside a wild orchid
as it is opening.
Diane Frank is author of eight books of poems, two novels, and a photo memoir of her 400 mile trek in the Himalayas. She is author/editor of the bestselling anthology Fog and Light: San Francisco through the Eyes of the Poets Who Live Here. Her new book, While Listening to the Enigma Variations: New and Selected Poems, was published in July by Glass Lyre Press. Diane lives in San Francisco, where she dances, plays cello, and creates her life as an art form. She teaches at San Francisco State University and Dominican University, and plays cello in the Golden Gate Symphony.
1. Hidden
On nights like this
I have nothing to offer anybody except
a jar full of fireflies.
In a field of memory,
we are watching meteor showers.
That was the night our dreams began to fly
to the stars on Orion’s belt.
The truck was filled with hay.
We were singing with
the aurora streaming across the sky.
One day I will find the right words,
and the visions we have held for so long
will leap into the sky.
2. Golden Koi
On a tropical island,
an angel skin coral grotto dreamed of golden fish.
Around a star in the Andromeda galaxy,
a blue planet was born.
In the water of a golden sea,
a blue frog leaped out of the water.
A comet carried messages to a new constellation,
crossing eons of time
along the trajectories of asteroids.
Centuries later, my dreams,
like golden koi made of starlight
started leaping to a new world.
3. Wind Dance
She danced with her reflection
in the window –
her friends in little boxes.
One woman danced with a teddy bear
and another with a broom.
The music flew through a wind tunnel,
the harmonies, like a flock of birds
fluttered against each other.
That night, in a dream
we waltzed on a polished wooden floor,
thigh to thigh,
with pivot turns at the end of every phrase.
4. Niagara Sunset
The sunset tonight is like Niagara Falls
a memory of the northern sky.
The river cascading over bedrock
and underwater, many miracles.
Years ago, we walked into a cave
under a waterfall,
stalactites dripping from the walls
reflecting lantern light.
You were a prince; I was an ingenue.
Somewhere, a starfish is dreaming
turquoise in salt water –
pentacles, banded fish, a meteor,
a heart insisting on staying open
to the beauty in the world.
5. The embryo begins to dream
On the other side of a thick cloud
an embryo begins to dream.
I wrote down everything
on the inner walls of stones,
a vision in the distance between spinning stars.
The universe was a labyrinth,
a symphony, an enigma.
On a love night
inside a nest of gumwood trees
two cells dance, swim and unite.
Above them, stars tumble into the future.
Before sunrise you can hear
music inside a wild orchid
as it is opening.
Diane Frank is author of eight books of poems, two novels, and a photo memoir of her 400 mile trek in the Himalayas. She is author/editor of the bestselling anthology Fog and Light: San Francisco through the Eyes of the Poets Who Live Here. Her new book, While Listening to the Enigma Variations: New and Selected Poems, was published in July by Glass Lyre Press. Diane lives in San Francisco, where she dances, plays cello, and creates her life as an art form. She teaches at San Francisco State University and Dominican University, and plays cello in the Golden Gate Symphony.
