The Feather and the Light

Perhaps to knit a raveled sleeve of dream

I woke up speaking. I might have screamed,

I guess, had I been in a nightmare, but

my sleep has cosseted me nicely for a while:

nightmares don’t appear to be my style.

I can't remember what I said; but it was odd

to hear my awkward voice make contact

with my dream self as I came to in my bed.

It now occurs to me to think, and say, that

what sinks in each night must always carry

into day – I rarely know, though, in what way.

I’m captivated by the notion that the air

of waking consciousness and fluid of sleep’s

ocean may at base be made of kindred stuff.

Human spirit flies and swims in atmospheres

and seas with equal ease: neither has too

little or too much of what a psyche needs.

But Imagination’s random weave in dreams still

strands me half-in-touch. And so I wake to make

this manifesto to the night: bring wide-eyed life

and reverie together! Introduce the feather

to the light of dream and speech – encourage

each to flirt with what’s beyond the other’s reach.

.