Author of Dream

Peering away at the surface, pixel by pixel.

Respecting the nature of the puzzle, puzzled.

Standing atop a cement block floating

between Nothing and Nothing, comes something, something.

Missing the Stranger who knew me, cell by cell.

Balancing on a weight of this somethingness,

made of nothingness,

a chip off a tower, a crumb of the moon,
of missing a piece, of missing you.
Timelines travel on rainbows of light to merge

with thought sounds which bloom in my head

like quiet explosions of springtime, Aware

of the pulsing of promise that flows through my

being like whispers on water and puddles unseen,

only a dream,

passing and pushing and baiting and pulling

and barreled away inside petals of everything

peeling away and unfolding itself one passion
at a time. A promise is this: a kiss on the forehead.
An arrow of hope wrought with iron melted and
twisted and molded to bind hope itself into Knowing.

Loosing a language not born for such things,
secret codes crafted and carved and hidden
inside the predawn monaliths of night's most invisible ink.
To the moon: Safe for Unveiling;
Accept for my presence, a sleepless path
surrounded by heavens and lit by starlight.
Ever so graciously playing with silence,
Tiptoe on rooftops and dance with the quiet.