Dropping Off (Poetry)

It is not on any map —
                this land of longing
but in some country just a minute wide
tucked between the lightswitch and a shadow
where sleep invites me slip and gently slide

I wander here — a ghost
                among tall flowers
they nod and lisp their litanies so low
I strain to hear that language — pick it over
for clues which path to take before the snow

The weather sighs — releasing
                flakes that shimmer
and fall on me — grow warm upon my skin
the blizzard wraps me round in brittle splendour
such shells break easily they are so thin

Emerging as sure-footed
                as a dancer
a dying sun my spotlight sheds soft beams
I waltz across a field with perfect timing
sense drops away — dark’s edges slick with dreams