Faint white wings of apple blossoms float within the window's midnight eye; moths flutter, drowning in a dimension of glass shadows. Swimming through that transparent wave, the child, deep in the river of moon, mouths thin blue milk. Songs billow around him, filling the dark sails pulling toward morning. Damp curls kiss the back of his neck. The rocking chair drifts, crosses a smooth wooden sea; its psalm praises the heart's rhythm. In the frame of branches, one star sways through the space where two sparrows sleep - outside dreams, above earth, wreathed in the visions of love, apples, daybreak.