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.

i know my way.

the eye of the needle
has never been wider.