Spirit Chimes

We are the dreamers
and the dream.

I almost believed it for
one auburn moment.

The Western sky has
breathed at last after a
fluorescent tantrum,
closed the lid on a furnace
seeping through
ragged trees.

I could have believed
every prophet then:

could have believed the sky
was a jeweled net dropped
only to capture me.

Here on the surface
of a galaxy's beating
heart,
cluttered with lives
and entangled
dreams,

we choose to sleep
through the best parts.

We love in bodies
and search outside them,
searching always for
the treasure that
we are.

The last slice of day
drips from a
many-pronged forest;
how luscious the fire
when it gives up its soul!

Stars are pasted like
glitter to a paper dome
and far more fragile
than we ever
imagined.

So this is the dream:
spirit waltzes,
random magic
and a crumble
of dust.

And we are it.

Patricia Joan Jones

To read more of my work go to: My Poetry List