Stalagmite Dreams

This old house creaks in the shadows of early morning,
echoes and pops like dripping water from stalactites.

This is my cave,
My sofa, a bed of stone.
Looking within, I find that I am no longer afraid of the inner hard space.
The sun will find me here.

So I lean back into the moist dark and listen as dreams are gently
formed
drop
by
precious
drop,
falling
on my upturned face.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s