Along the parched road of living
there was a sign that read,
cool mountain stream, first right
at the crossroads.
I had to get out of my reverie
and walk up close to read in small print,
enter at your own risk.
Well, I was torched as you can imagine,
my engine had been running hot
and I could smell the stench
of my own insatiable thirst.
I looked at my gas meter and it read,
running on empty
watch what you do
another dry mile
and you are through.
I knew how to fix that you see,
my reverie was not all I had,
I had a reserve tank of dreaming,
and I had dreamed my way into many a place.
I shifted out of reverie and into dream
and turned right at the crossroads,
and came across some assumptions,
(standing with their hands on hips
in the middle of the road, they were,)
so I closed my eyes and smooth as silk
my dream took me over their stern mouths
and landed me in a meadow,
lupine dotted and poppy spilled.
I could hear the sound of happiness
frolicking in the splash of passion
and I slowed to take a breath
and that was when I saw
my future falling before me,
and turned away.
I gathered my now
around me and fastened it
with the exhale of my intake
and suddenly I was looking out the window
at the middle of the day
and my fingers were like small birds
pecking at the keyboard
and the sound was part of my heart
and I wasn’t thirsty anymore.
In the dew of little things,
the heart finds its morning
and is refreshed.