Elevator

The lights that are alive Beam my mind in knots Fishbowled on an elevator, brushing beanstalk men in black Eyes up; I'm stubbed and trapped in my panicked plight One tips his topper and says “the galaxy is behind you” I didn't know what to make of it, yet felt profoundly moved Then an alarm licked my ear and climbed inside my bones In solace I try to remember: who, how and what and why Oh, that's the shape of dreaming, floors morph into skies Later on I came to see, the voice was mine in guise Validating subconscious truths, from another mouth and eyes Were we stagnantly still, or soaring on the rise, or to demise? Or were we always moving like the lights that are alive?