Poetry

Step 13 (73.)

These empty sandscapes escape scrutiny most days,
but now that there’s not much else to do,
the eyes wander over every grainy hillock.
A whole host of microscopic somethings dances across the sea wastes,
and in this moment,
I am glad I am dream-chaste.
A dozen mermaids swim in the wake of
some goddess of the ocean depths,
and in my sand-watching fervor
I am blessed
by no desire.
How did I get here, anyway?
If reality gave way to dream
for my disappeared friend,
and I followed them in life,
how then did I set feet on their dreamlands?
Why do the gauzy narcotics of slumber
continue to work their drowsy spell?
How deep does this dreamverse go?
The layers are piled into a tower
that stretches stair-arms up and down
to bring myriad other towers into the fold.
Where they stop, not even my friend knows.
I feel this in my gut.
It is very possible that every grain of sand in this dreamy sea
contains a separate dream within it.
I am become the hourglass,
and I filter lost dreams through my very bones.
Only time and space will tell
all the cosmologies my hands have sifted.

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s