Midnight Carnival Poem by Nan Williamson

midnight carnival

Under an emerald moon
the midnight carnival's
green tornado spins.

One hundred sycamores tremble.

Yellow lights
dance on the hill.

The lion whispers
to a sleeping gypsy,
I never eat a lady
on the edge of dreaming.

Inside tall houses
tangled voices
murmur.

A trapeze artist waves
from a window
at the red horse
flying to the moon.

I take the dream
for what it is, a jumble
of mimosa clouds.

The midnight carnival
presents
a curious Japanese lady:
she holds the emerald moon
on a long blue string.

No trace of friends
or lions, but sly lips
insinuate dark questions,
voices, talking too much.

Inside the houses, tired sandals
wait for the morning dance.