Sparking awake from sleep
I breathe in a line of ancient poetry
and am surprised to discover
I am no longer running from the crumbling tower in my dreams
but am alone in the ring of silence.
What is this force which keeps me
waking, running, sleeping, then waking again?
What is this voice that comes through
In waves and waves and waves?
The crest falls.
Day begins and rest is no more.
I shall put aside, then, these visions,
and tend to the mundane things that
circle the world.
Coffee. Work. Sister. Friend.
And secretly, in stolen moments,
I close my eyes and dream-
