Cryptic Dream

_
when I dreamed down
from the sparkling sky
over palms and
bright gateways
a fingernail at my
throat warned I was about
to be rapt away

I saw, mile after mile,
baskets of
pumice and jasper in
sand, even mud
from the Maker's
clay, and wondered
if this was some new dawn
of an icy museum
stuffed with mummies
and scarabs

I am daughter
of the sun and fly bold -
I soar on pollen
and silk - but felt
a hard sawing of fangs
on my quivering
heart, and in the upward
flaring spark, was
made new, burnt
to ashes

--Jo VonBargen 2012