Reaching out my hand, <br />I grasp the cold and solid glass, <br />while all around me life revolves <br />dreamlike in time and in space. <br /> <br />What I can be certain of <br />ends at my fingertips. <br />(Today the carol music plays; <br />tomorrow, spring buds will swell. <br />Today my hair is peppered grey, <br />tomorrow it will be white.) <br /> <br />I sit and labor here. <br />From these labors, <br />a world is born. <br />I walk into that world, <br />and from it will bear another. <br /> <br />Solid hand upon the solid glass, <br />all else writ <br />as if a dream, <br /> <br />and one that yields not <br />to my conscious will. <br /> <br />And so I do another kind <br />of labor for my raiment, <br />down from all enchanted realms, <br />become a beast of burden <br />carrying my dreams upon my back. <br /> <br />With one foot in my dreams <br />and one foot in the solid world, <br />I try to bring the two to one, <br />and keep from being pulled apart.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/labors/
