Day 450: A Dream of Significance

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i don’t remember my dreams;

i haven’t had many
in a decade or more.

those i do recall
seem silly and strange,
as dreams seem to lucid minds.

they fade quickly
in the light of day –
like invisible ink
that air dries runes
on blank pages –

there
and gone.

there.

and…

 

so i was surprised
when i woke with a dream
of significance;

it lingered
like a snuffed candle.

i could see the trail
of ember and smoke
that my psyche’d left dancing
in the room:

 

in the midst of my dream-home
grew a low, sculpted evergreen,
like an overgrown bonsai
in the place of a table.

beneath the highest bough,
on a thick curved branch,
and hidden in shade
and smells of pine,
a turtle perched,
and made her abode.

whilst i stood in the room
folding laundry
and singing,
an elegant owl swooped in,
looked straight at me,
peaceful and wise,
blinked,
and went for the tree.

the owl grasped the turtle
in its talons
and flew.

 

i would catch the turtle
and replace her to her perch –
again,
and again,
and again,
i tried –

snatching back from the air,
and returning to cozy twig caves,
the most docile of painted things.

 

the game played on,

 

but the owl persisted.

 

something had drawn me away,

 

and upon my return,
i found the hearth screen slashed
in two, straight, talon-tears,
and laid low,
and crooked on the ground.

the flue lay open, too;
its handle dangled
like a loose metal ribbon
twixt the bricks.

 

both the owl

and the turtle

were gone.

 

∴

 

 

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