I approach the door I see in my dreams.
The shifting dreams I've had for the past few nights.
Sometimes its the same door, sometimes it's new.
So each night, I focus and describe it in this journal
The door, so that one night I can choose.
The sky door
An obsidian monolith is before me
Darker even against the somber room it's housed
edges shimmer
a glassy surface
shining with a glint
a hungry wolf smiling
I walk closer,
not prepared
to see the dark
of this doorway
simply
fall
away
~
I could see a world,
from high above
a storm cloud
that looked like prairie smoke
dancing with light
casting dispersions
on a purple field
far below
a step closer
Fields of thistle colored trees
wavering hard
hugging coral coastline
water surging, pounding cliffs
with spray as golden as an egg yolk
A tempest in resin
I hadn't noticed
but wind is
beating my face
pushing me back
yet
This world
beckons
another step, as I pause
A long vermilion shape, emerges far below
breaking free of the thunderhead
wriggling disjointed movements
a hypnotic site
as a dragon pulses upwards
towards me
I approach the door I see in my dreams.
The shifting dreams I've had for the past few nights.
Sometimes its the same door, sometimes it's new.
So each night, I focus and describe it in this journal
The door, so that one night I can choose.
The Sea Door
The air left me. Gazing at the brilliant abalone moulded door.
pink coral decorates the top of the frame.
thick seaweed
wrap – fall
dark emerald
tendrils swaying
listless,
limp
reacting to
something in the water
I take a step closer to investigate
as little fish hastily swim
schools
obscured by the abalone colorful sheen
I start to move closer
A small motion, in the door
stops me.
A great horizontal slit
opens slowly and scans me.
The handle, which was no longer a handle starts to reach out
the briny tentacle reaching towards me.
Dark violet water falling
silently, reaching towards
I approach the door I see in my dreams.
The shifting dreams I've had for the past few nights.
Sometimes its the same door, sometimes it's new.
So each night, I focus and describe it in this journal
The door, so that one night I can choose.
The Golden Door
Walking towards this door is like waking up on the first day of summer.
I can feel the heat escaping, like sidewalks and grass clippings.
Its morning as you touch the door frame.
Intricate vine designs pour across the ligaments of its frame.
The gentle pulse, like the heartbeat of the wind, cool ~ dandelions puffs sailing into the afternoon heat.
Laughter. So sweet and innocent I almost instinctively grab the door handle and twist,
but thats when I see the door handle.
Gnarled and dark, spent. Examining the opener I see faces. Faces that have been twisted and turned so many times the bodies are indistinguishable against each other.
A throne of faces wound into the intricate turner.
Macabre and beautiful, youth forever locked in a dance
words are weapons.
through rosy lips, venomous
through pens, backstabbing
through dance,
words are subtle transformed
a line
a glance
motion becomes – statement
that cries
“get away
and softly states
“please, please stay
When the door closed
I felt the wind roll out
The small world we'd cultivated burn
Its ashes, not even fine enough to hold
That's not what I want to remember
I want to remember the winter
Wrapped tightly under a blanket
To see your face smiling
To watch sparks play across your eyes
To be there again
Walking hasn't felt the same since that day
Coming home to no one
Sitting drinking coffee with no one
But the sun, is getting stronger
the wind has started to rise
The connections we build.
With the places we live
The places we work
Mine are no different
I realize
As my eyebrow raise
The nervous system, of dust
tattered books and creaky tarnished flooring
alerted my gut
that she
She was here
My wait over
I could see her fingers wrap
around the present id left her
Again I felt her settle to the floor
Then I slowly stood, taking care to lay my own book down
I would sneak this time
and so I did
winding like a python through the underbrush of literary volumes
flowing until I could hear her hum
Standing there, opposite a mirror
her bookshelf between us
I knew this might be my last chance
I let my vision fall, one shelf at a time
until at last i saw the book held in front of her
Her chestnut hair flowing down onto frail shoulders
Her humming slight and sad
The sound of a pages turning hungrily
“Excuse me” I began, but the book she read dropped
A turquoise shimmer of her skin as my eyes met a cerulean blue
it felt like a bubble popped
i have a secret world,
that blossomed from all my fears,
that I scribbled down in electric notes,
that will never disappear.
when all my days are over,
as slowly my words undone,
seek out my hidden hamlet
and read it while sitting under the sun.