Stillness becomes a dream rendered,
twined soft the silk cocoon of memories.
evocative pulse lingers lucid pulsing within a dream,
peeling the crisp outside apart, inside warmness wet, emerging silkily from the chrysalis of sleep.
here this crespucular soul learned to last,
tides ebb then spill upon starry shore,
fore sunlight becomes nights breath,
Diurnal arch reaching the stars.
” Fireflies don’t know they exist till after the night sparkles. ” her thought rendered mine. With a whiling gaze, she took to the horizon dreamed.
As the dawn peeled nocturnal the skin of dreams,
kindness felt before love adorned the scent of whispers,
feline names graced this life,
cats gazing with moon,
dreaming of a saucer of cream.
Panthers took me deeper,
into the tide of a swirling night,
It took forever becoming the catch,
a static ebb tide,
Suspended in the between,
A being rippling into the ocean of dream.
Scry again another,
night fills a sky starry, this gaze of kindred constellations beckoning under a sky that dreams earth.
the firefly pulling close tasting my breath,
gaze into the shore pooling with stars,
this capsule of night is swallowed whole.
Entering as a Jaguar quenching,
Lucid dream, which fireflies dreamed,
they exist like Jaguars beneath a canopy of stars.
That which remains was here before you were born.
The fur that held your beating heart, remains on the earth from a nocturnal snack that once rippled through the golden meadow,
upon the ground, what remains has always been that space between.
It’s just the memory that puzzle held together, no border no edge. The shape between , being eaten inside then regurgitated again back like a whirlpool the soft fur-skin given back to where she came from.
Curves running in circular motion
That which remains was here before I
A shape out of the corner of my eye
A contour between inhabited space
That which once you walked through
Inhabited between like trees or mountains
The spaces where clouds reign ń storms decide
Remains my memory an aboriginal truth,
The myths of dreaming night skies, embers of fire surrounded by a ring of river stones loft and merge with the stars. That which remains Living between the clusters of stars, dream time kept that space between alive, into beings before you were born.
The anima between the clusters of stars,
dreamed living under obsidian sky.
That which remains was here before you were born.
That skin which held your soul was dreamed like the rippling waves given life from the wind, evoking that which remains between.
Imagine this earth before any living today can speak of.
It is the elements that have always been.
Mountains eroding slowly to the beach as grains of sand.
Imagine this earth as it was before.
When the air has an unrealized fragrance .
When birds awoke to the same sun, nightingales sang lullabies under a moonlit sky.
Waves washed ashore seeding another beachhead with treasures from a distant land.
The stars in the skies were farther.
Life moved with this rhythm becoming with the dark then waking with light reaching into the blue .
And here I sit writing a thought of spirit not a philosophy.
There were eclipses seen by the tall grasses, they seeded back into their earth, their meadow sent a collective wave of colour to an evening of stars.
Then somewhere a lake reflecting a world speaks of the rain~ memory of being taken inside by the tongue quenching a thirst then purring through emerald eyes under a canopy sky, full of stars.
Sighing, the lake reflects another sentient piece of earth skyward.
And here, we are in wonder of what remains encoded.
In our bodies, as memories, finding another that understands, gifting a puzzle piece into your palms.
This picture familiar so clear mercurial and alive. Goosebumps rise when we sigh into a starry night .
There is no good night.
below a moon that is hidden by the horizon.
there was a shadow near, spilled from this quarter moon
uncurling her crescent bowl filling evening cool within a selene glow, suspended slow motion of every passing star cluster.
There must be names, none living today can place into words.
No voices to speak this past, memory will cast moons light,
shadows animate minds spellbound upon this earthly shore,
this bowl of a quarter moon, fashioned from opaline materials of earth.
Vespertine dews filled this bowl, an microcosm ancient symbol of earth etched then blended upon the bowl holding a moon
of liquid rippling the mirroring stars reflecting into the half moon cupped in your palms.
Mercurial the waxing crescent that cast light into shadow,
gesture of infinity quenches a thirst as earth tilts the bowl.
moon dresses the horizon, sewn lapis sky pinned beside her tinted rim.
here dreams sleep, stitch of shadows swirls round,
memories liquid as clouds.
horsetails clouds that circle a stirring sky
held timeless entranced upon the bowl of a quarter moon
becoming the gazer that wonders.
There is no good night to the sleepless.
here only night and day play a lullaby
with a moon setting vespertine shadow of dreams.
For if we sleep :
convince our souls to fall and rise deeply inside this bowl of the moon . beauty will ride a winged horse spurred from the wisps
of twilight clouds, gathering dreamers to ride to the milky way.
There is no word for good night.
just a lullaby of anima nocturnal.
a bowl turned from earthly stone,
filled with a moon cycles of dew.
hands cupped warming upon a surface of stars.
for theres no sleep for the dreamer.