Wednesday, November 11, 2009


I have dreams.
Dreams of scaling El Capitan
Clamped to the edge of the world,
Drifting at the edge of space.
Dreams of tall pines and sap on my fingers
The sting of scraped knees and my breath
Caught as we sway with the wind.
Or being old and weaving loose ends
The loose ends of a fortunate life.
Loose ends that slip into a comfortable knit
With an old friend with the right loose ends.
Dreams of being unknown
But knowing myself
Just driving off in a new direction
And being exactly what I feel like being.
Or spinning these things
Bits of death and love and reaching far places
With an unseen touch into the web.
Into the ebb, into the bed,
Into... and
Out of my head.
I will not live in dreams
But dreams are the thing.
The things that fill up the vast empty spaces
An oil that carries heat from the fire
To everything cold
To everything real.


Jenny said...

This is really dream-like. I like your word play. Really elegant.

Anonymous said...

I loved your poem, a vector of dream-like verse.

Ande said...

A consent. Full of fire. I forgot myself while reading it.

rhoda said...

very nice ... a dreamboat of a poem

gerry boyd said...

wonderful weaving of words here. i really got caught up in the flow. it would not let me go. bravo!