Dreaming in snapshots of

Several months.

A flash, a freeze

As I see that I’ve been

Packing on pounds

Just waiting for winter

To keep my warmth

While bathing in a stream

Of consciousness.

 

Down the alley I see the doe

I chased for a week or two.

Last I saw, she stood in the surf

Leaving hoofprints like ink.

 

Looking up with tears in my eyes,

I spot my brother

Lost in the woods outside of Oregon,

Sipping at the river Lethe and

Sweating out whiskey.

 

I run from that

And out to the window.

The Midwest Lakes

Offer me a copy,

And he guesses at my visions,

Adding purpose to the past tense

And sniffing at the frost.

 

Back inside I read a book

Which reminds me of mountain men

Who shed tears on those Irish Cliffs,

Wiping that dew to see a little farther.

 

Let me tell you about the Night.

My lovely Night,

The Beast which,

Released,

Is like a second skin,

Telling and yelling and

Smelling my first skin

In disgust

And rebellion.

 

I’ve had a lot of dreams

That taste like the real thing.

But sometimes they seem like both,

And I wake up

All lost in a shadowy

Day filled with

Something called Light,

And I can’t help

But beg

For a purity

I’ve never had.

 

What gives taste to that dust

All conjoined with glue

Of life and light and Night?

I’ve spent years

Turning a mouthful

Over and over

And searching for

A reference,

An answer to such a question.

I do not have

New information,

An avid congregation,

But I will preach

What I know

As if it were the dew

On a new born doe!

 

Oh Beauty,

Why are you so hard to share?

But

All is forgiven.

All is forgiven.