This is a long poem that touches upon dreams and dreaming...
But for now I will dream in the dreaming:
Deeply I fall into her aftermath
As black crows call outside
And the night is crimson and dark.
Burning beside me the block-wood fire.
Her bike leans on the empty wall
Her dog has gone too.
Light streams through windows in the roof
On this amorphous emptiness
By her gone away
To the place that called her
Leaving me speechless and
Hanging on the receding tide.
Darkness creeps down invading
Burning beside the fire
Too filled alone
Surreal and conscious of this
While sensitivity breaks the dust
Putting out the turn
In another day of wonders
So climb back in the window
Uncork another vine
Smash the glass in my mind
In this place full of….
Crocodile hands reach
Where the blue dream spiders miss
The eagle flying high screaming from afar;
Wondering while wandering
Whose hand does take the past
Shifting, sliding into the mist?
All is raining cries the chaos,
But no one will take the shadow.
Well the witch grows a rose
And light snakes through the wall
As the scissors cuts the dream
Then something else is real
In the faint breeze that blows through
Droplet threads shimmer
In the early breeze
Ghostly houses asleep
Haunt the mist
With their
Chimneys reaching to the sky
Not yet light on the black tar road
Deserted
Somewhere a dog barks
From the bottom of a deep dark well
Its sound echoing.
Memories of other times
Like a faint something on the edge of forever
Stirring something.
Bottomless desire:
She revolted this sibyl
Mysteriously prophetic with her oracles
And her silhouette against the darkening sky
Tangential with the moonbeams and my wandering hand.
Desist, she uttered, you valentine vagabond
With your valueless words, inebriated heart and indigent soul,
Your Minoan desire is not for me;
I will not be drawn
Into your oblivion of obscene fiery possessiveness.
I was on fire with her scent writhing on the floor
I fixated on a plant, watched tendrils of lust.
She took pity on me then
Became the earth mother
Pulled me to her breast;
I was lost
Nothing mattered anymore.
Oh, do that again:
She cried
Then drank a bottle of wine
And decided the night was pleasure and
Didn’t have a problem getting to heaven.
Then went to Morocco
Crying
Do that again.
Lost in the rain of what came again
The memory
Oh, do that again.
Now a summer has passed
She sits in a garden
From anywhere he could say
Oh, do that again.
She whispers
He could do that again.
Image from Pixabay
