come dream with me
All those nights she stared out through the bars on her window,
Smiling at pictures only she could see.
Moving to the rhythm of a dance that others frown puzzled upon
And wave their limbs in graceless imitation.
In the cold, the clear, the dark of evening,
All manner of creatures come to life under her fingertips,
The fantasy given form and placed on the tabletop
To be admired and embodied and to sing just for her.
The things that creep along the edge of reason have sidled their eerie way
Out of the dark alleys of her imagination.
She hides from the light as though afraid it would burn.
Words and ink and paint and clay all fall beneath the broad sweeps of her sword
As she strides like a warrior cleaving them before her,
Littering the ground with art in her wake.
Smoke curls from her hundredth forgotten cigarette like a lasso
Drifting skyward to draw the night in tightly and prevent the sun from rising.
No longer mindful of her surroundings she sits,
Wearing her nudity like fine silk.
She is pulled, breathless, this way and that in the current of nascent energy that has brought her here.
Grasping for the brush or pen,
Eyes closed,
She strains to hear the soundless whisper of the thousand tiny faces she has made...
“Come dream with me...”
© mjc 19 September 2013
