The figure returned to shadow at the cliff's edge,
beckoning, as an angry ocean, far below, sighed,
the dreamt child swept past a tree, long outgrown
the wooden posts to which it was tied,
he then stood proudly before the figure,
though in fear of the betrayal of his heart,
for he saw the morbid strength of that grim clutch
upon the handle of the filled shopping cart.
Meeting it's gaze, the figure's appearance shuffled,
first the Joker, next the Jack, laughed at his slow pace,
then, with the abrupt finality of the last draw,
the features settled to the dreamt child's adult face.
A sudden sense of dislocation overwhelmed all else,
as the ocean crashed with hunger,
the dreamt child's terror took shape
as an owed death that could be with-held no longer.
With a solemn chuckle, the now-revealed figure bent,
as though in mocking supplication,
upending the cart, emptying it's contents into
the distant waters below: a terrible invocation.
The man who dreamt awoke quickly to absolute awareness
with a sharp inhalation,
unable to, yet, grasp nocturnal quest's end,
it seemed, as though, projected on pocked insulation,
he went to the kitchen, took up the mug branded
with his name, and wondered at it's heat,
caught his reflection in the tap, turned it on, then,
dumped his coffee, thinking, "It's too sweet."