Of Dreaming

The grace of a day’s hands
And the dignity of all the words
Are like the sea blossoming
In with fitful sleep uttered
Again and here the faces
Fall from my mind
And eyes settle
Upon the waters
Of a skewed perception,
Floating without destination
Across the molten liquid
People that filtered
Through this day and that,
The turning of glances
That look and these twitched
Images pass through the mind
And lapse back to
A singular event
Or some dim error
Committed now a crime
Gut wrenching at midnight,
It sends waves that bristle
To shore and sand
Where seabirds land
And guard their watches
From stones wet with my thoughts
That drift this way and that,
My eyes that open and close
The day’s doors where now

I may be chased through tunnels,

I may have hands open to catch crumbling teeth,

I may be riding on the back of a killer whale,

Or caught in storms where trees
kneel and bend like full lips
To kiss the end of the world,

Even the holes in the road
Seem to mean something
Whilst it all too means nothing
It is elusive and is it by design
That drunken dreams
Are stitching hems
To life less wholesome
Though somewhere a truth?

Nevertheless, it raises wings
And dust and seems to stay
Yet only leaves its shadow.