The black of the night sky adores the paralysis of my <br />eyes. Like a mirror told me birds cannot reach where <br /> <br />there are no walls; Like i sometimes look for mushrooms <br />so i can be the thread that goes through the needle. <br /> <br />But in tall grass, where light is so heavy i finally forget <br />to wake. It is just a matter of time before we realize the sky <br /> <br />is just ponds of sleeping planets, with no desire to stay <br />concealed. Like the way someone grows old for you on <br /> <br />the fire escape, or in the safety deposit box of sleep: Like <br />the way thorns set the table for the rose, because its color <br /> <br />will never wear out the scabbard of its scent. It will always <br />remind me of where we dreamt together, and how my eyes <br /> <br />had better get going before your hand approaches, and <br />the four seasons start believing the world is getting smaller. <br /> <br />The world is a cobweb folding up the petals of a flower, <br />because the spider cares little about the stories of color <br /> <br />or the fact that we dreamt together without ever saying goodbye.<br /><br />gregory collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-we-dreamt-together/
