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.