In times of solace and even not,
when the world shrinks at the corners
and the all-seeing-eye winks,
the hypnagogic takes over.
I disappear into my unconsciousness, and
I see all the beauty in the world.
I see the galaxies exploding;
impending rebirth in a
pastelar-spectacular combustion of planets.
The mechanical love-boat springs to life
and all the lovers,
with their brave questions and
buoyant expectations,
float, fly, free-fall into the fervour.
I see the promise of the future.
Yet, the desperate preservation of history;
drawing trees on paper (oh, the irony),
searching for the genesis in the fallen.
The black and blue pale moon
bruised by the cosmos
is waiting for something
(other than metal and bones).
I believe the bold hues of my being are
moments passed on the shores of promise,
but I know this is how we were meant to be.
I rest my cheek on Orion’s belt and
sigh at the splendour.
I see the ebb and flow of the heaving ocean
that I fear if I looked long enough into,
Neptune himself might drag me to the
wellsprings of youth and miracle, and
well, I might not want to leave.