waking from dreams

On occasion
I wake up not knowing where I am
I went on that trip again, to another planet
I think…
it’s the one dangling there
in the night sky
like a prismatic blue, crystal
window ornament
suspended, scintillating
the soft refracted light
of a flickering distant star,
where things flow flawlessly
one into another, organically, like jigsaw puzzle pieces
one moment, one thought, one whisper
…at a time
the one where I fly
like a thought without wings
over twinkling city skylines
and oceans vast with tall
salty waves’
metamorphosing haze
where I know every language
spoken
without a tongue to speak.
ears to listen, hands to write
eyes to read,
the one out there in here.
I don’t know where.
It’s the one like
a 20th Century Technicolor Fox film,
entertainment for sleeping,
story telling for the unconscious,
then I wake up.
slowly recognizing where I am
I reabsorb lessons
on how to navigate the impossible safety
of the shore,
by reading, what
I’m supposed to read
by writing, what
I’m supposed to write
by hearing, what
I’m supposed to hear
by speaking, what
I’m supposed to say
I take refuge.
in a cocoon-like compact,
feeling fortressed
by the freedom of its confinement

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