A sleepy-eyed, soft cornered state of consciousness exists
before my brain synchronizes with my body’s motor functions,
before my eyes lose the filmy residual images of the distant places inside my head.
It seems so innocent, naïve even, this state,
lit dimly and incongruently by speckles and shafts through shuttered windows.

I love the way light behaves here;
the way it bounces off objects in interesting angles,
or diffuses gradually,
or hunts for hidden corners.
I love the way it highlights the peaks in sheets, but also emanates through them.
Or the way it rolls over arms and elbows,
cheeks and noses,
but leaves other areas steeped in dark shadows.

Your feet are ****,
They'd say. 'Tis so.
And time is of the essence, quick.
Steal away a while.
Build study walls of callous scales
To drive away the spines and spires,
Of ***** worlds and friendly fires.

I didn't know what it meant
But i liked it.

In all its ever-present, phantasmagoric, sundry forms.
I liked how it wriggled through the grooves of my fist
And fell in tendrils down my spine.

I liked its sound--briny and crystaline
Like footsteps on salt panes.

Twice she came and twice she went,
Each time with less a grasp of reality.

Arms spread wide,
Head thrown back,
Her dress whirrled silver as she spun.

Fast, like a clock.
Turning back years in minutes.
A spindle unwraveling threads of silk.

When she stopped she never stumbled,
Only swayed.
The wandered away,
In wistful delirium.

the ground, it trembles.
as if thousands of little feet trample its surface,
rhythmically packing the hard earth.
And none can see a thing.
their eyes matter not,
touch overwhelms their being.
it caresses their necks
and trickles between their fingers.
it washes over them
in undulating waves.

they dance, and they inspire dance—
in fire
in gusts
in light, filtered through wind ravaged trees
and kitchen windows.
which glitters entrancingly as it kisses the floor.