only when the last lights go dim
do you see it is a dream
not before
before you are the dream
stream of raging images
learning to speak to mirrors
that have no use for your secrets
the shrub of dreams
does not draw water from our hours
its futurity is the wind’s voicing
herding trees through awakening
waiting for you has made me old
your call at the brink of the world
makes the heart shudder
in the temple yard
they open the fountain of blessings
mandrem, 21 november 2011
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