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.