TO TOUCH THE SURFACE...

He dreamt of shadows and strolled along corridors. His bare feet, flat on surfaces, pooled towards the journey, pooled towards open doors and windows. He stood and he sat, he walked and he lay, he murmured and he sang. He sang of a hand held, a nod given, a smile shared, a tear shed. He sang of connection, of distance, of friendships, of loss. He sighed within sleep, moments in dreams. We are here...then we are gone. We are the miracle of a pinpoint of time, non-repeatable, non-negotiable, single and defined. So he dreamt. He dreamt of forest floors thick with the lives of leaves. He dreamt of deep ocean floors with the silt of ages. He dreamt of the expanse of horizons, big skies filled with nothing. He sang of the crust-laden songs, songs before visions and before footsteps. He clapped in time to the ten thousand names of the gods, all whispered over and over by dark angels with wings tattered, edges flapping lamely in the breeze, The silence of night, the silence of faces within walls, of dreams and the scattering of feet...he dreamt.