how does a dreamcatcher know which
    dreams to catch?
what if it
swallows the good ones
and sneaks them off to another
    reality?
what if it
holds the bad hostage
to share at the most dreadful
     time?
           what is time to a dream?
but just look at how it twists
and ties itself in knots so
    beautifully
a community of individuality
cinching simplicity together to form
   brilliance
a spiderweb of spirit trapped between threads
strung tight like the ties of
   fate
showing me reality
far beyond
what we blindly
    see
    inspiration
    appreciation
absorbing the vibes reflecting off
questions of whether a second
                         is time to a dream?
unrecognized reality
mind outside of body
    sensory
    overload
a breath of fresh
light
a taste of foreign
thoughts
the touch of a
music note
and a vision of
    love
trickling quiet
tears down the
face of
                   time...to a dream
truth
can dance on the
    edge of reality
so when i wake up screaming open my eyes and
see
my mind momentarily remains
tangled in a realm of
    reality once removed
feathers floating softly
through worlds yet to be
unfurled
but shadows through breezy windows left ajar
blow my thoughts back to
    now
and the sounds
and sliences
and the colors
and expressions
of my mind
are altered
by a bombardment
of influences
out of control
reality
can be difficult to
embrace
now and
again
we must
    escape
                 to a dream
to contemplate the
    impossibly
intertwined strings of
eternity
    that
  spiral
through
and through
tossing and
turning new leaves
as the seasons cycle
time remains immeasurable
lest by our mere
      thoughts and ideas
so we
create
a geometrically
stunning display
of unspoken hope
to catch
                      a dream
and it hangs by the window
and if  the
truth
teetering on a tightrope
between worlds
could speak it
would tell of
endless
possible
imagination
where
dreams
are
reality
and there is
no such thing as
                               time

Today, I witnessed  a grown man run round and round and round in circles making silly noises, growling like a monster, speaking gibberish,wiggling his fingers and making very big faces, laughing like a madman while falling to the ground, only to get on all fours, snarling like a wild animal, going round and round and round, up and down...while his wife trotted joyfully back and forth, holding his bare-bottomed giggling grandchild.

Pure love, because we forget what it's like to be naked in public.

awkward silence*

like the sound of
an old television
on mute
or being in an automobile
windows up
no stereo
an elevator ride
crowded with
unpersonable people
or a shopping trip
where all the talk
is small

but sit among the trees
dip your feet in a lake
lay in tall grass and
find shapes in the clouds
or count shooting stars
under a crescent moon

and the silence is
*simply beautiful