Alive, I am swept up
in the dream of a world 
where
candlelight gives ambience 
to receive
long-lost dreams ready now
to fly fast to me,
 where fireflies
keep alive in me
 a magic jar full
of the dreams that never die.



I know this heartfelt invitation.

She calls me to the morning, into
the lightness 
of a feather dream

where I gaze into the kaleidoscope I

that changes colors, settling 
softly
into stillness, where

Through a stained-glass blessing

I become the morning rose, 
open
to sun and find I am
yet alive, born in the seed


of a dandelion dream.

In this world, the wind blows

and all life swirls, slowly at first, 
like
bubbles breathed with blessing

into a summer’s day and then
the pace quickening, wind
wrapped
 around me with a force
of grace 
that touches me within and

rustles ten thousand rainbow leaves 

that scatter like stars.

 

A trinity of truth, the turbine turns
on the mountain top
 and I drift away,
a feather in the sky, forgotten question
blowing in the wind. I move into

the current and the current 
moves
through me, breathing life into all
the dying things, awakening in me


what has slept through winter, 

summer breeze of yesteryear.

In this world sounds morph and magnify
then fade to muffled meaning
that slips away—but that’s OK,
for there is no longer need
for interpretation, only moving
to the music
 of a higher love,

things above
 settling.



Softly in this world below
people come and people go, move

like magic rainbows sliding into

fields of gold on an autumn day 

that feels like spring, season 


of beginning.
 


In this world wishes don’t have to

come true because they have 
always been

alive in me
 and everyone can see
the way they multiply

on a blustery beautiful day
that never ends

because the wind

ever begins again.



In this world color changes rapidly

with the wishes of the moment—

a poem, a prayer, a promise,

like a whispered breath

of being here where 
I am
a dream, alive...

a dream alive.