Dream Maps

The geography of your dreams
places you’ve been before
and all that gleams,
the roads, the stepping stones, between
what seems, all linked together
by the bird of your heart’s desire
flying overhead and stitching
all the disparate pieces
of your land of dreams
together, as the crow flies,
in shuteye skies. — Annette Marie Smith

Wide Open

He left his mind open wide
like a window onto the night
and all manner of things came in:
mosquitoes, sneak thieves,
stray bullets and ominous clouds
all came streaming in.
A cat, black as ink and just as fluid
stepped delicately over the sill
and then, just as delicately stepped back out.
A cat won’t stay in a place barren of soul.
Wastelands are not for them.
When he opened the window
not only did all manner of things come in
but one particular thing went out
and that thing was him.
His soul slipped free like a Peter Pan shadow.
No soap, no needle and thread and careful stitch,
no Wendy, can reel him in. — Annette Marie Smith

Sunday Things: July 5, 2015

I woke thinking of you and your smile. Funny how I can wake with a thought just waiting to make itself known to my conscious mind — as if said thought had been beside me through the night waiting patiently to charm me with itself and upon discovery making me think, at the same time, of far away places and blessings, perched like singing birds right on my windowsill. — Annette Marie Smith

I have begun to dream of numbers

I dream of numbers, but not in that genius mathematician way where numbers are beautiful symbols, keys really, to unlocking the secrets of the universe. These numbers are not metaphors creating poetry beyond the grasp of normal folk like me. No. I dream of the addresses I am sorting, shuffling, assigning a place to in my letter carrier universe. I find myself amused that the numbers of the house addresses I have been marrying to the mail I carry throughout the day should have their say, intrude on my sleeping self and be mundane and significant at the same time to me. Sixty-two-hundred-thirty-three, I think. Sixty-two-hundred-thirty-three, I think repetitively and wake with a piece of mail in my hand that only my dreaming mind could see.