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Dreaming in Motion


I need to slip away in the light of

my creation, a ceremonious breeze

high in the heavens of contentment

softly whispering by, gathering flowers

wild, from a field of daisies, buttercups

goldenrod, Indian paintbrushes.


Wondrously! I laid upon the sweet grasses

aroma hypnotizing my attention, astonished

from the beauty that surrounds me, enchanted

with whippoorwills echoing through the

treetops of mountain pine, while clouds

darkened slowly, for the dance to begin, with

dots swiftly appearing, sparkling across the

velvet heavens.


The silver disk of light brightens the lake

dressed in a sheet of clear glass with tree

frogs singing their immortal mating songs

serene and blissfully kissing the silence

good-night, sweet dreams, with God watching

mother, moisturizing the coolness of delight

and promise of another day.


Dreaming in motion never grows old

it only calms the savage beast that lives

when clouds darken.


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