Last night, I woke up at one am
and found myself
on my brand new bed
six hundred miles away.
After laying a single night
ten months ago
upon the bracing care
of its red-brown teak,
I had drawn
the dark peach curtains,
leaving behind
its shadowed form
in the darkened room.
It stood glowing now
under the gaze
of a luminous moon
in a roofless sky,
the night was not a night
it was a moon day,
and here is a story
from the silent travels
of my waiting soul
released at night
from the mind’s blinding hold
along highways
uncharted for my slumbering self,
returning with glowing tendrils
that turned to smoke
in the fist of the grasping mind.
At the start
of the witching hour,
the gates of the mind slid open,
the soul sailed out.
In grace, I woke this night
upon what I thought
was my bed
until I saw the gliding moon.
The hum of the ocean
made itself present,
the teak bed,
a wisp of the mind,
tendrils leading
from this wishful cot
to the ocean’s bed
where I lay with my eyes open wide.
The full soft moon
glided along the surface
easing into a thousand moons
tumbling purposefully within tenuous reach
slipping back into the one above
bathing the waters forever
in its soft gaze.
I hugged
a full soft moon
one of the thousand moons,
it laughed
with crinkled eyes,
sharing its joy,
tendrils of the moon day
seeped into my lightening marrow
lifting me
clean off the ocean’s dark bed.
Poetry in Life 