If you dream, does it make it real?

Glass.

Focus upon the images-

Red lines

Following roads like cars

Swerving string

Destined into knots.

A map.

Laid on a recycled edge of

Pillows.

Like a lullaby

Soft, light, and

Evocative.

Filters the sand

Through empty rooms

Colliding –

With the clouds.

We come from bubbles.

Thoughts left behind

Each eyelid

Spending a lifetime

Between Freud’s imagination,

And the lines of a book.