What Dreams Are Made Of

A simple scene a nestling seeks the comfort of the night to lay enthralled, engrossed, in memories of past days, the nectar drawn from rivulets that run past blackened lash. A lidded eye roves left, then right, as if it’s been betrayed a corner tick, a slight knee twitch, odd choices now made. The blanket once a comforter now twists so very tight. A falling dream, a horrid scream, yet no land's in sight. Bloodless body, writhe, heave, callout, nobody's home your casing calls, umbilicus, umbilicus, reel me down. A flying lift of breeze ‘neath hips, a lofting, oh so, high, brings soul to ground with sighing sound within the dream, entranced, aroused, the coming light, the end of night, wake. First Published in Sweet Dreams and Night Terrors 2013