Dreams entangle and untangle,
Melding a mess of what is, what was,
And whatever will be.

Makes sure and unsure
Between what’s near and what’s far—
A state of certainty and uncertainty.

Hours will pass, years and centuries,
And repeat for eons, repeat for eternity.

Shed your worries and fret not,
Because you shall dive
Into a world without history.

Search not there for holy nor for divine—
You are the god,
All-mighty entity.

Create and destroy all that you want,
Merge with matter and with energy.

In this place, nothing’s strange nor is bizarre—
It’s all just a dream,
And you are dreaming peacefully.

Candy perfume
Cotton candy clouds
Unicorns drinking tea
With an umbrella made for three
Teddybears in suits
Ladybugs weave glitter
Blades and chocolate
Butter and veal
Soft and sweet
Timid and mild
Golden tipped chipped china
Eggs on goblets stand
A tap
A knick
A spank
A kick
And all you add is pepper
Until you sneeze
Baby candy bears
Minty chocolates
Melting fudge away
Breathing in peppermint tea bark tea
Basking in the muddled blend
Of pink and blue and stars and diamonds
The nighttime dreams to begin
Nonsensical tantrum of sleep
Of unnatural restlessness prevades
Another place awaits you
Deeply packed in salt
A well taken care of spot
Renewing the smell of steak, medium rare
Reds and white galore

i knew it — something was here
within me, beside me, around me.
being woken up by fire isn't so surreal.

stepped down on the floor, felt it through my bare feet,
watched the skin glisten, brighten,
turn red and burn with such an intensity.

the heat was unbearable, so were the surroundings,
and yet — yet i found myself going down the lane of memories.

the pathway, a tunnel — almost like a water slide,
bleeding with my tears.
i fell and fell,
found it impossible to reconcile

with everything and the no-longer-supposed-to-matter things of my past.
felt watched, looked around,
remembered the concept of “nazar” in the background —
someone’s always watching, always picking, always hoping
for me to fall, to go down, to enter the lows and never get back up.

i hate the color orange. it just messes me up,
reminds me of all the times i hoped it wouldn’t come true.
i stand amidst the burning flames, watch their color blaze,
see it in my own eyes, stand tall watching myself smile.

am i sleeping? why do i sense no meaning?

the embers rising from the hearth could melt gold — make it blood.
i feel it through my veins and my bones, my muscles and my soles.
the lines are blurry — so is my vision.

i intended to wake myself up, but i can't stop sleeping.
i watch her — and him — and myself — and my dreams.

the final line loops back to the same question:
was i ever awake, or was this fire the irony to hire?
was i up at stake, all this while?
i did truly forget how to smile.

but then i inhabited,
held it close, hugged it.
tiny little sparks emerged from the cacophonies.
i dreamt with meaning, slept with a feeling.
the fire was an old friend —
the memory lane one lost, but remembered quite a lot.

i found a water jug at my side table.
the floor didn’t burn or sear.
they still watched,
but i had the evil eye pressed up close —
sleeping and dreaming of lying with my only 'gold'.
it sparkled, it shimmered, it brightened, and my heart glimmered.

perhaps i was never awake.
it wasn’t no nightmare.
i’m happy where i am.
wouldn’t want to bargain —
not here or anywhere.

she has my voice,
only sweeter;
she has my notions,
only purer;
she has my pride,
only gentler;

she knows i’m hurt,
only better.

she means well;
is it… only a spell?
she breathes a song;
only, i cannot tell —
if she yearns for me,
or only mourns for me.

to me, it don't seem;
but i know —
she's only a dream.

Frost laces the earth —
a quiet diamond veil,
whispers of smoke rise,
spilling through the breath of trees.

Snow, soft as forgotten dreams,
drifts over stones, over roots,
its silence pressing close,
like a hand on the chest of night.

The wind, thin and sharp,
skims the hollow of the hills,
pulling shadows into its folds,
sewing the moon into the bones of the sky.

Bare branches stretch,
clawing toward a distant sun,
their fingers white and brittle,
writing cold prayers in the dark air.

Below, a river sleeps —
its pulse muted,
veiled under ice,
the valley cradles it in a long, slow sigh.

In the pause between seasons,
we linger —
half-light and half-shadow,
breathing the fragile quiet of winter,
waiting for what is to come.