Staring through the blue glass of dreams
we reach into each other's sighs.

Earthworms move about in some sort
of abstract percussion, they may even
be our brains or lepers in disguise in the
colony of our heads,
sometimes we are so high we think we're
Gods and the earth shakes with love,
evil empires are brought down in our discussions,
and new earth civilizations rise to occasions with us,
we are
laudable pundits and poet oracles, bringing distances as far
as Pleiades and near as breath to round the moon-face of our
desires,
we hiss like serpents and jump like spiders in the web
at the interval of every angry exchange,
we make peace with nothing but silent hands
and the braille of skin,
consume unclimbed mountains and
rivers of no return, oceans of wildflowers and sea weed,
we are salt dolls
in bed.

A little water washes away the salt as you pull the covers back with an
untoward vengeance I do not see. You wake me up, wondering.