they say the crumbling of the invisible wall lies
just beneath the surface of the 1½-page point.
scribbling madly while sitting on the rim of
the vessel that is dawn
i’m almost there, when… dream fragments:
a slice of amethyst
a morsel of monologue
a scent of challenge
an air of quest… a stallion
a shield… a sword
an abundance? an extreme
of sensory stimuli
a lush tree… jeweled with leaves
and the air? iridescent with
the shimmer of stars
a cape? a cloak.
the ringing of my own inner voice.
and, just there… an intricate labyrinth.
but
i know my way.
the eye of the needle
has never been wider.
