sink back into
the welcome depths
of morpheus' velvet embrace -
with alarming ease -
resolves into strange
new landscapes -
salty heat of a
gives way to quiet frost -
stumbling through scraps of old poetry and long silent musings, my eyes tasted this fragment and memories surfaced from darkened layers... like cat's rough tongue scratching at my mind's ear, the words licked their way into the moment. exploring. savoring. questioning. wondering. whisperings of fog and distortion over on jude hill's blog echoes these quiet mumblings. strange landscapes rub their backs against dry skin...raising goose flesh...sending tingles up spines...teasing imagination.
walls are slowly growing landscapes of cloth. seeds are planted deep, though not dormant. the man in the other room sits comfortably, the needle between considerate fingers softly murmuring through woven fragments, fabricating cloth. cloth for whispering stories. stories for expressing ideas. ideas for expanding minds. or not.
tonight, shielded from the cold, keen air by the warm embrace of cottage walls and crackling fire, my fingers cannot mimic the man's in that room. gossamer ghosts of cloths yet to assume tangible form crowd too close. feeble attempt to warm unmanifested bones by the hearth. better to let the imagination roam beneath frozen stars tonight. the needle, silenced, will chant again when the sun illuminates snowdrifts in the morning.
for now, good night. sleep. dream. be.