Before the light

touches my sleepy eyes,

I go deep for moments,

trying to catch the remnants

of my dreams.

Line them up as in a patchwork,

gatherings of hard and soft,

places of familiar and many new,

wondrous and disturbing sometimes,

not unlike a river whose flow

rushes over endless rocks,

Some of jade, some of ivory if caught

by the sunlight.

Carnelian roughs its colors near slippery green

mosses,

only dragonflies flutter their wings nearby.

Water, slippery like my dream flows,

drag and twist and brighten my sleep,

toss me around

while my arms lie still

and my eyes flutter with the passing

ships in the night.

I lay in my pillows, shut eye,

traveling back in time,

my wings seem to be made of

feathery flesh,

their bones are light,

tired from the long nights and heavy from

carrying the stardust

accumulated from years of waiting,

watching, listening, and caring.

Zillions of stars watch over me while I sleep,

and troubles and concerns from worldly

awareness,

seem to trick their madness into liquids of

dissolve, and disappear into clouds of soft 

pillows, holding me gently on my journey

to inside myself.

© Heidi McGurrin 11/3/2017

 

prev / next