Grounded In Dreams
I’m not only living from what I see. I’m living from what I dream.
I’m swinging on a soft dream, A cloud of rolling mist I cannot see.
The cloud rolls away. I’m no longer swinging on a soft dream.
I’m swinging on something I can’t see, nor can I feel. My heart is clambering to know what’s real.
To see what’s right in front of me, or, sixty-two inches below.
If I could trust, then I could just fall,
Letting go of that which I cannot hold. I cannot hold mist that wants to roll.
Choosing not to hold, I will be held sixty-two inches below.
Crouching down. Feet flat on ground.
My dream is mist, now evaporating from my skin. Meeting low pressure, forming puddles Around my feet.
Grounding me, Trailing me, Now I always walk with these Puddles of dreams, slithering silks stabilizing my feet.