Intergalactic Dreams

The big dipper,
so close I could
reach out,
grab its handle,
and fill it with the
milky essence
of the galaxy.

Pale lights
of the heavens
shine from
a place where
light and time
have no
reason or measurement.

I dream of skating
along wisps of
comet tails,
left behind
to remind us
that we leave
remnants of our soul
wherever we
may go.

Hands of my past
guide me along
these dreams,
strong
attentive
calloused by
wood  soil  life—
all of the faceless
blames and excuses.

Stars wither with age
until I am
swirling
tumbling
drowning
in the consuming flames
of rage, despair,
and the black hole
blocking my way
between subconscious
constellations and
the yawning Autumn
waiting outside
my window.

Five more minutes
and I could find
a way around it.

Five more minutes
and I could
convince you to stay.

Five more minutes
and I’d sweep
my arms above my head,
bounce on my toes,
and let go of
gravity
fear
and the tether
reminding me of
the life I dreamt of,
where light and space
have no
reason or measurement.

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