Yes, it was a nightmare
But I haven't 
Left it behind
A few days after
My mom reached the stars
And shone down on me
No more by my side
Yet her presence felt
All through the day
Returning to
A semblance of normality
Somehow able to
Reach across the void
Her absence has left
The dark patch
Over our souls
But pretence
Is something that is
As natural
As forgettance.
And I converse
With my dad
Of trivial things
Like they actually
Matter
And I say,
"Appa, I can still
Hear her
In my head”
An alive phantom.
And I sob
Uncontrollably 
Waking up
Drenched with salty tears
Detached
From what's real
And what's not.

Her warm glow sears the cold clay
breaking its wake oer the dream of its children
cracking its whip to the kneck of the hollow skull    
where seed be ground  in the mill of sleep

The veil  thickened by time lifts its skin from the thin of eye
worlds within worlds play out on the stage of the great mind
its infinite reach dredging souls in its wake
its mercy scolding and none to the sleep not awake

Light filtering through the room,
A slight disturbance,
A common enemy,
Phosphenes dancing as you awaken,
The weight of your eyelids lifting,
Unveiling your surroundings,
An announcement of your existence,
Your choice to restart the world,
To have another look,
Just in case.
It’s a mixture of curiosity, maybe a little hope,
And possibly a bit of fear.
But that moment you open your eyes,
Each morning after your dreams,
The moment your darkness disappears,
To be captivated by light,
Is the moment you decide to give the world another chance.

Ana

It’s morning! Finally morning on the even ebb of eve.
The tides! The marina’s tides are thick like wicker’s weave.

What sand has shifted? What news from Diego’s dawn?
From covers; the bark of seals sing like a bay yacht’s yawn.

Dinghy docks and pristine clamor; now I hear the bells!
No, not the toll it takes, but just the charm it spells.

I orient, I wake. I’m quick to smile; the sun follows suit.
Searching south; the daily buzz on right, and left: a bay that’s mute.

But the sound’s not snuffed, you see, motors have plenty to spare.
Because whether or not you knew or noticed, the navy never seems to care.

Compelled and called from my fruitful rest; muesli munched with jams.
These charts and graphs I take with me while I brew my grind of grams.

I wonder if I'll ever know what it feels like
to wake up each morning
to a life
that's actually worth living.