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In my dream I was falling through clouds

The wind blowing my hair wildly:
Air rushing past my ears
Like the roar of a cargo train
Traveling inside an endless tunnel
Through caverns inside my nomadic brain

I saw a small villa
High upon a mountainside
And rapidly approached
Closing in
Like a magnetic target
Toward these long and wiry iron gates

They opened up so slowly
Like in a slow-motion movie
With thunder roaring in the distance
And lightning flickering the darkened terrain

The villa transformed into a small cantina
Inside what appeared to be a ghost town:
Tumble weed and dusty shadows
Popped in and out of view

The cantina’s swinging doors opened
Beckoning me inside
Where voices intensely crescendo
Like a impassioned opera

I was pulled in as is if I had wheels on my feet:
No control over my movement
Only apprehension consumed my will

Once inside,
Colorful Flamenco dancers suddenly appeared
As guitars, shouts, hand clapping and finger-snapping
Satiated the atmosphere

I was invisible
Behind curtains
Wandering through long corridors

Compelled to move further into the dark labyrinth:
Moving ahead with determined curiosity

Realizing I was dreaming
I saw a new born lying on a field of grass
Pointing to the sky above

I now appreciated I was in the entrance
To tomorrow morning’s bounty