somewhere between
the haze,
beneath heavy eyes,
worlds unfold
like broken window panes
in a flowered desert of mind
on the cusp of a dream

within the last vestige of the dream
the angels of sleep
unlock the window
and hold it wide for the sleeper’s last gaze
through sweet clouds
blanketing the mind’s night
drifting in a windless world,
at faceless mirrored people
in liquid cities, apparitions,
dwelling in ancient past, suspended present,
and the unknowable future