Thursday, June 21, 2012

the right hand of sleep

the right hand of sleep strokes my chest
why is it so difficult to speak
when distance is rare
i hold my breath lest it is heard
in between every finger that is truly there

can we only speak of dreams
into the silence of a mountain lake
swallowing the strain of climbing to that peak
and all regret of leaving it
when we plunge our heads into cool water
strip off every shell and dive
gently
into the relieve of a slightly bended morning