The Dreaming
written by: Alan Brayne
The dreaming drifts up into the sky
And we wish we could float with it
But we can’t, not yet, we’re not ready:
Our little toes
Are buried in the sand.
The dreaming scoops up a handful
Of stars, and they glint like
Grains of rice:
All that we’re left holding
When stars land.
But sometimes we can touch that midnight sky
In a ravish of a moment till it fades.
And we glimpse, in that lucid moment,
The comet tail our baby fingers made.
Then the dreaming goes back into hiding
And that sky which shone so true
Gleams delirious and false:
And our little minds are left behind
And little understand.
A retired teacher and lecturer from England now living in Malta. Recently self- published a book of poems, fiction and essays, Digging for Water. The author of three novels set in Indonesia: Jakarta Shadows, Kuta Bubbles, and Lombok Flames. Interests include art, film noir, the I Ching, philosophy, walking. Just recovered from working out how to set up his website.
Latest posts by Alan Brayne (see all)
- The Dreaming - January 5, 2025
- A Grain of Sand - August 28, 2024
