Poetry

Step 22 (82.)

Water touch,
a skill unknown to most,
but in this context it is all I can surmise.
Happy chime resonates as their hand brushes needles,
and the lone cactus has bloomed forty-fold,
a seeming celebration as tiny succulents
burst from the sand in joy.
No mere illusions, these cacti friends,
they stand and wave in the desert sun
and bless this dream with green.
The somnambulist wipes their hand on their pants
and nods, waiting for my move.
I reach out, to touch my cactus flower,
and caress its petals with affection.
No need for fear, or glass defenses,
we open this desert garden to appreciation.
Satisfied, I look at my companion,
and I show my newfound abilities.
My furred and feathered guides moved ahead,
and it is mine
to follow their lead.
The moon shines above,
with shadows hiding unseen dreams,
and these visions are paramount.
A strong shrug of shoulders
and I am airborne,
with the somnambulist following suit.
Should have known they had this power,
but this is also my journey –
our motions need be synchronous,
if we are to succeed.
In these dreams lie the seeds
of futures,
and we endeavor their harvest
to plant them
for posterity.

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