Warping the Mirror Inside Out
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Last night I drifted between dreams.
The dawn was too weak to keep me awake.
I closed my eyes with intention—
to step back through the curtain.
The dream re-opened lucid,
not as I had left it then,
but as I wanted it to be.
I warped the path of the flowing stream.
Its waters following my lead.
I called to the spirits,
the half-seen and half-forgotten,
and they came in up close.
They hummed their mantras,
their eyes enlivened with flame.
Their fire did not burn.
It melted old dregs away;
things I had clung to.
Renewal rose through my chest,
bright and oddly burden free
I pressed through the ashes.
Sought not to awaken but to reshape—
To change what was fixed.
The dream became pliable.
A soft-clay under my breath.
I felt doubt and concern as,
I opened the door, entered the space,
feet bare on the floor.
Each corridor was pliant for me—
the walls redrew with each sleepy sigh.
When morning awoke and returned,
the dream’s pulse still beat in me.
As my eyes opened, I knew,
that we can rearrange whorls,
when sleep and waking coalesce.
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2025
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