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The Dream
In a high room
in a weary mind
it fights its way up
through the knowing brain,
which lies unguarded.
It slips out, a
glowing sphere of light,
into a dark room
until it finds a window and darts
high over the street,
which is lit with
the soft yellow glow
of city midnight.
Little know the sporadic passerby,
the crawling cars
the sleepless men
that high above
in the fog of golden red
the little light
advances through the rain-
cleared air;
Up
past the visor of human cause,
to that glowing path in the sky
to join its brothers
in the river of dreams.
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