| I sit motionless, watching the deep, silent |
| night, here, upon the rock in the cove. |
| I think about tomorrow -- what will today |
| look like from then? |
|
| A rising wind beckons earnestly, taunting, |
| urging participation. I feel the moon |
| whispering to me.... |
| Enter: inflections of reality, or is it |
| dream? Strands of violent color erupt |
| translucently around me |
| argent brilliance dallies |
| among the matte brown as the rock |
| sinks deeper, strata by strata |
| into my head. |
|
| Is this an alternate reality? |
| Time has no hold, it is a thing |
| of the past.... |
| The moon is grinning. |
|
|
| The rock gathers dew as dawn |
| proceeds over the water. |
| I stir up on the rock... I |
| rise toward conciousness, |
| from the essence of what I am. |
| Time... time to leave the rock |
| in the cove, where it sat in the future |
| of yesterday. |
|
|