What Sleep Is This

WHAT SLEEP IS THIS ? He sleeps and wakes and sleeps and dreams the sweet-water drink; another traveler on the road where street-dogs paint graffiti phrase-art and illusion is master. Along the way he spies a beautiful young woman with smoky eyes and lips rare as first light and hair the colour of wheat blowing in the wind. He is mesmerized by her glow, her aura, so sharp and yet diffuse; the mind-trap of beauty and seduction. When their souls touch it is like two stars colliding endlessly for the first time and their fires mingle like voices in a choir angelic. He is both lost and found, ecstatic and bleeding. A shroud of light engulfs them and they dance… What sleep is this that grips so tightly? A crisp lucidity melts his core, a fusion like night to day. Who knows the end of one? The eyes of the Father peer just behind the horizon and much too soon morning stamps her feet, he opens his eyes truly for the first time…everything disappears and he waits, safe in the knowledge that she exists, for his dream-girl to return to the roadway and his heart.