IN MY POETRY OF DREAMS

Dreams come to me,
as does my poetry.
And inside each,
as in a kaleidoscope,
variegated colors
overlap and overflow,
as does time,
where seconds are years
and years are lifetimes.

In my vision quest,
I share space
with singular souls;
bygone lives
that once cast
velvet shadows
on the earth
and now find sanctuary
in the rhetoric of reflection
and the magic
of primordial perception
in my poetry of dreams.

If dreams die
in the middle of a phrase,
so does the depth of love
and the clarity
of our yearnings.

Images that are erased
without a trace
between the start
and the finish
are like muted children
who will never hear
the sound
of their own voice.

In my poetry of dreams,
heartbeats of ethereal light
can vanish suddenly
in the stillness
of the night.

© JOHN PISCATELLA