The Dream Lends Light to Darkness

lost city

Entombed under the weight of sleep,

it comes like a relief,

a blade of light pulled from a darkened sheath

In the midst of that jungle,

through the dense trees, a glittering El Dorado

appears through the lens

clear as a mountain stream.

From the deepest valleys

dreams nourish the source of words.

From watersheds, unconscious threads

follow cracks between rocks and the riverbed,

a silken transition

that transcribes light to the water’s edge.

The glass over this surface

scratched innumerable stories into liquid mirrors.

The illusion of today gone tomorrow,

the process words seem to follow.

Solitary thoughts with painted wings

point the way inspiration

lends light to temporal things.

Where the breeze mingles with the sky,

the imagination holds up the butterfly

seeking somewhere to land.

The sharp branches of Kiawe

do not ward off this delicate advance,

now coming into focus,

patterns of color to contrast

with the stark bark of reason.

Relenting once again

to the tumbling of events,

the breaking of waves,

the last gasp of energy

scattered like ash in an enchanted rain.

Dreams will burn brightly

through the smoke of illusion,

leaving fragments for the waking to reclaim.


Subtle Signals


When the past would conspire

to be more than dreamlike

and grow stems in the present,

memories will manifest themselves as puzzles

and what has been left unfinished

will reveal itself line by line,

stacked in preservation,

one drawer at a time.

A subtle cobweb of strands

illuminated by closer inspection.

Silent out of necessity,

neglected as streets in winter lonely,

the wind strips the pages of pretense.

Watch them dance until pressed against the backyard fence,

where the minute details flee the light of day

like tiny mammals from the talons of roving hawks.

The hastily scribbled dream pad construction of letters

are like a breadcrumb trail back,

like keys to unlock the subconscious

surging through the narrow modes

we put it through,

all the swallowed codes

of how reasonable processes should unfold.

Where else can we put these shadows?

Subtle signals still darkness,

flickering impressions

in the form of stories, symbols,

the rain-washed aftermath of chapters

in a torrential outpouring of feeling.

Fingers follow the unpeeling,

resist not nor enclose with a gilded ceiling,

the duality is always revealing

mirrors, reflections overcome by changes.

Limbs burdened by rain,

arms reaching down to hold again,

fears and doubt swaddled by routine.

Within, without, like a banyan route to the unseen.

Drowning water

Mute land for inspiration

approached with the frenzy of exploration.

Propelled on streams that mirror the mind’s mist.

Hold tightly the oar in a clenched fist

to fight against the current,

the whirlpools of hindsight

that has us drifting in circles

towards dark coves of graphite.

Our battered craft

searches for scattered scaps of light

amongst wrinkled ripples

spilling cataracts over edges



following its course

like some Norse hero towards Valhalla.

Where moments die, that’s where we will be.

Amongst fallen fragments,

collecting the debris

that is pieced together

on the unfolding fabric of infinity.