dream 2

i am late afternoon sunshine interlaced through and about the heavy magenta-flowered tendrils of bougainvillea, rocked in the cot of evening breeze. i am skipping down a sidewalk, scattered and broken like light. i turn to say something to you, to wind a flower into your hair, to spin a sweet line out of delicious nothings, but you have vanished, may never have been at all. it is a dream, a castle in the air, whose corridors echo (echo echo) with longing and stolen kisses. summer is fading bittersweetly with the day, slowly evaporating, a mist of crackling solitude. I teeter on the cusp.

dream 1

I am on a bicycle, arms spreadeagled, chin up, swirling and swaying along a sleeping street; the flower duet is ringing in my ears, a rushing waterfall of melody freewheeling and soaring through the whirring of the spokes. Dappled sunlight is sprinkled on my face, pooling light on closed eyelids, dripping down my arms, down the back of my neck from leaves of eddying autumnal yellow against a holey dove grey sky that i cannot see for eyes shut. silence. there is a dead bird in the street. i am the dead bird. i am riding a bicycle. i am in a glass globe on a sill, where leaves purl on the peripheries, left of centre.