The white dream waits
for me to enter. The rabbit
runs through a field of nettles,
burdock bends in the wind. I follow,
find the room without walls.
No boundary, just wild weaving
in green stem and white-pin flower
along your blue shirted shoulder.
We stand there in the where –
a dream is always now and never –
while a wave in love with itself
and the chase, crests, falls
into the sea, the shore, the broken shell.
You fell fast. I didn’t hold you.
Each dream has its own dreamer –
white dream, red dream, purple, blue,
all the way down to the black,
the dark waiting
to bring up
the new.
Published in Spillway 23
Carolyn, such wonderful poems! Especially this one. You have found words for those dream sensations that I had no words for. And “the dark waiting to bring up the new.” Beautiful. Thank you for sending them all… and congratulations on having them all published!
I hope you are well.
Sending love, Rose
Sent on a Boost Samsung Galaxy S® III