The Deep Dreaming
I return to the world of men
each morning amphibian
leaving the sea
where non-sense makes perfect
sense in thick moody shadow.
Deep sleep fits my tired bones
into a rest of sane occlusion
where a mind is free to lay
in whitecaps or to yawn
among the gaping mouths of fish.
I am not so brave awake to follow
paths leading deeper into dark
or dive where reason drowns
and collective memory buries
the history of surges.
Though awake I reflect, myself in wonder,
how steams of coffee and slatted rising
of sun wring out the night soaked clouds
mapping the surface with a more real
of textures and depth
and I see how without the other
we are so much the less.
(Painting courtesy of Walfrido Garcia)