The Duration of Dreams (Poetry)

The big hand is creeping up to the hour —
I’ll give myself these few minutes more
to nestle in the warmth of half-thoughts —
those meandering trails that lead me
back to the enchanted forest.

I have a guide — the arm of comfort rests on
my shoulder — a soft breath soughing in my ear —
the way is welcoming — I could be gone
for days among the trees’ familiar shapes
that bring their own identities.

Reason’s calm horizon stretches wide — accepts the strange
as not entirely without cause — logic shifts
to accommodate the weirdness — allows it stand
in its own right. I ask no questions of
myself — let all things ride.

This sleep — if sleep it is — evades description
the shadows move unmeasured while the clock
is faceless — static as a mask unfeeling
while this other world has time bands of its own
and rules that instinct knows

nothing is impossible — all doubt is absent —
it’s a land of black and white where ageless
dreams live out unnumbered lives...

Alarm — a bird flushed screeching from a thicket —
my three magic minutes up I groan awake again
                                yawning — like it’s been years.