#130

In the dream
there was water
I was looking down from
high above
a white concrete building–
below, a rushing river
and people
floating, laughing, being carried
and I wanted to jump
and be carried
so I waited
for the next wave
that came down
through the white corridor
from the cathedral
on the hill
and it came
carrying its people
and I jumped
and was carried
along in the whitewash
but it didn’t last long
and soon the floating
stopped
like we were at the end
of some short road
and there I met
you.

This entry was published on 10.17.14 at 6:56 am. It’s filed under art, automatic writing, creative writing, journal entry, prose poetry, small stones, writing and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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