Sang-froid

Quietly sighs the dawn
long and languid through the hours
What’s to come about lies in wait
Per chance, to say
Something sagacious,
Something great.

Dreamers wide awake;
So erudite and perspicuous.
As if their dreaming
were to dream
Away the smothering Incubus

That sponges up the will to act
by the dour soul expecting
that fortune’s grin will find a heart
as effortlessly as their wanting.

Stock-still with llusions of mobility
Tipping teaspoons of emptiness
Into steaming cups of void
Sipped by the thirsty lips
that kiss the blarney stone
and speak their yearning with sang-froid.