We die each night,
Passports stamped
in invisible ink
to a realm where
the possible and impossible
shimmer
beneath purple sunsets,
Where the breath of imagination
bends eternity for a moment,
Wishes skinny dip in deep time,
Hopes burble into form,
And fears slither out to play.
As morning seeps into our lids
and the edges begin to blur,
We straddle two worlds
for an instant,
Then blink away the mystery,
a taste of death on our lips.