Why is it mornings, so far in the distance, flowing from beyond tempered shorelines on lone standing bridges ~ always seem to call in the midst of a dream
When sunrise illusions now erase sleep on meadowlark borders dotted in dew drops built in the confines of spring with fall fast approaching ~ featuring shadows stretched of time
Long on the porch, weathered and beaming, tapping the front door with marching band fingers in trumpet blares and bass drum beats ~ yet quiet in the state of mind seen through blurry eyes
Still ~ a before smile, brought about the prior evening forces dimples once again in my cheeks igniting the darkness with three-ring spotlights, streaked of circus beacons on popcorn ceilings
Reminding ~ the dream I have found actually lives in my daylight, slipping around corners and window sill gaps, finding me on the brink of now, stumbling my way to where I long to be ~ awake