In a lucid dream
I nearly had it all:
We were the union of reading minds,
page to page,
two books with the same chemistry binds,
we stood close that night, word to word, so tight,
but at the very flash moment, the first ray of light
Stubbed me with the tainted shame,
chilled me to the core of my bones
and we left the blank embroidering trance frame
to be stitched with hope for future clones
of teeming elusive dreams
and their upcoming nightly extremes.
Now I am stuck on the page
With open sores
reading between lines
torrential rains of sensations
while pouring on the saturated soil
not yet crochet wordy rhymes.
I see my breath frosting
while standing between frozen word roots
where I am to bury swollen thoughts
so they can wait for me to color the face with red ochre
in awaiting of youthful spirits
which will germinate sprouting canvas lyric spring
to invade the lonely mind room
and trespasses the borders of my body.
On the tiptoes new night falling
whippoorwills’ Moonlight Sonata
Walks meek and mellow through the book of calling.
“Who are you? I am the whippoorwill that cries in the night, I am the soft morning breeze that caresses your lovely face.” Frank Capra, It Happened One Night
“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” Edgar Allan Poe