Underground

I do not dream in pink with familiar notes of jazz clustered in the background I am mired here in blue, green. Do I dream these tones or brown, black-white? What can it mean to dream I have my theories so did Freud so Jung. I want to open up the dream, dissect it further than a childhood myth or learn I long for ache for when we all lived together saw the sunrise come together and the moonlight begin whenever we glanced from the porch at night to see radiance design my fantasy residing in the sea, the edge the blue deposits, red coral reefs, forests of kelp The underworld my home at last reveals the place I know, not a dream of pink or silver stars but instead cascades of froth nestled in the sand, rocks, muddy liquid drops all falling to build the cabin shelter made for lions in the sea, the cast of ocean depths.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.