All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.
But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.
- D. H. Lawrence
Fingers of light peel my eyes open,
draw back the curtain of sleep.
An Ancient— pale, brilliant
crouches between earth and sky,
a coffin of words at his feet.
Luminous hands drum
the rough pine box,
his voice, soft like blue, chants:
These are the words you fear,
have not spoken, wished you knew.
He lights three lavender candles, opens the coffin, ascends.
Words— love, hope, success spill from his heel print.
I scrape at them, knuckles raw with chase,
brows moist with determination.
Ancient gathers three laurels,
crafts a wreath, places it on my head.
Sing your name until you are your name.
We dance, the wreath light on my head,
his heels heavy on my feet.
- Loretta Diane Walker
Published in Orbis International Magazine and Word Ghetto