Closed Eyes

Eyes imagined yet to come

become remembered regard,

when upon arrival,
few hours pass without
spinning the magic web,
darting to and from
a furrowed brow,
questioning mouth,
tangled hair,
patient senses.

How active
the closed portals back then.

Anxious pupils
roamed about vision-wary galaxies,
that place one goes
when "goodnights" are finished,
when left with lids melded fast,
securing their fettered rest,
while deep beneath
one’s resting seekers of light,
soil of desert gardens
offer respite and growth
as weeds of buried battles
vie for position.

How rhythmic
these sleeping eyes,
vision-toned fluttering,
an undulating pale cover,
like drifting sands of synaptic storms
forging dunes of subconscious discovery.

Tomorrow's dawn,
soon breaking,
invites still further
clouds and gales
abated by sun's insistence,
even as light's warmth
will once again
take refuge in a beloved’s heart,
while another night's darkness
arouses more frenzied chess of the mind,
dreamland's fragmented game
played somewhere unknown,
perhaps far off.

Perhaps…

Bound by sight
destined for that nowhere,
yet everywhere,
musings of trust
will usher in an ever-wakeful heart,
abiding and awaiting night-journey's end,
the opening of caring eyes,
the waking whispers
that open wide another day’s journey,

as warmth of skin reminds

of time and space traveled,

inspiration found,

melding heart and mind inseparable.