Riding the Light

My fears have left me, one by one

Waving farewell over sharp shoulders

Each attached to a dream instead

Rendering sleep the final exploration.

There are cats in my dreams now

And family

People walking carelessly by

As I point at their shoes.

Sometimes I am skyclad

Uncaring as I should have been awake

During daylight I dwell in my home

Neat as the proverbial pin

While my dreams stack in errant piles

Rising as my eyelids fall.

—————–

The me reflecting in you

Is not the one in my mirrors

Or my mind…

—————–

There are no borders, no barriers

To living this adventurous life

There is me upon the shoreline

Of an ever-shifting sea

Or me, blown before desert winds.

The news lays its crumbs into my blender

I have dusted these from sore fingers

I favor the surprise now, shedding

The peremptory of unknowns

For even the news is familiar from my dreams

Ever the known, unloosed & traveling by rail,

The windows scrubbed with sunshine

And the light behind my eyes.

—————–

Local journeys for a local girl

I only need hold the rails of life’s Ferris Wheel

To be lifted above perception

To be found by angels entertaining unaware.

Life circles ‘round, cycles seem uphill mostly…

On coasting down, the mileage varies

Everyone must master the Dances of Transition!

——————

It feels increasingly good

To close my eyes now

A moment of distance

Is a reverie by any other name.

The house responds to wind’s awakening

I no longer react,

Letting silence pool in my ears

Slipping through the backdoor of that dream

Just to look around.

——————–

The front door is left open

The tan-white face of an artificial Siamese

Stares unblinking, from directly across the room

(I named him Mitts.)

He has inquisitive ears, he tilts his head

As we each await the other to speak.

—————–

Blessed is the silence.

The hollow stairwell

Offers no fixed direction

The hats hang from hooks below

The single bed is still made above

All locks engaged, safe in the Gratitude

I sleep.

——————-

I said yes to the soup

Behind my fluttering eyes

To the dream that was that close…

I never noticed there was no spoon.

This page is spotted in dots

From my nodding pen, my nodding head

A tired hand holding itself up at end of day

Pecking at a poem.