Wistful

In my dream
I was a full-fed stream
of gold
all sun, cascading
down supple limbs

fingers laced with
fine transmuted light
to gild with warm
the people as they
gathered by circles
to do daily dances in
frost coated rooms,
their iced moons and
stars melding into
shimmered strong day.

I woke gentle and smiling,
bemused in my senses,
staying for a time
in this sun-let bounty;
it emanated from every
glance and I was sorry
to see it slip away
into ordinary day.

I am no diviner of dreams
but I should like to have
this one again to hold
longer and steady
across icy days.

Judge’s Comments:
This poem uses language in a very effective way. To point out one instance: the repetition of “s” sounds occurs in just the right way, very natural, not overdone.