Dreams, Mist, the Glimpse, and the Imaginary

Dreams

Dreams don’t wait for the sky to extinguish the intemperate sun.

Wearing a coat of darkness, dreams dance, till the gaze marries the make-believe.

When eyes awaken, dreams tire and fall, like dust given up by the wind.

Life then weaves strings of alive moments that sleep cannot undo.

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Mist

A brooding mist smudges sharp lines piercing the sky, swallowing rocks and trees.

Billowing greed.

The valley waits, for the singe to come, as the sky opens.

River and sky laugh as the savior arrives, scattering the mist, ladder between heaven and earth.

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The glimpse

The glimpse, gifts a key.

To what’s locked by time.

Limbs suffused with infancy’s supple kindness or crippled by the dying embers of life, the glimpse cleans.

Stains from the rust of ignorance keeping us afloat in fear that will not slip through our fingers.

We refuse, and look the other way.

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Imaginary

Once free as chaff rising in the wind, thoughts bury roots, growing to invisible heights.

Begging to break loose through the curtain is the fragrance of freedom.

Embedded in wisps of wisdom, it is elusive as the horizon is to the fingers.

Grasping for the imaginary, trust in truth fades.