NaPoWriMo: Mondy April 5th, 2010

Tristan


Breathe,
let the lepers out.  
Drift to the edge of my cloud
and speak.
Find the fire, burn
my locust storm.  
Persuade me to sleep
in a matrix full of sails that drift
disoriented yet attuned
to the wind. 
Touch me like an innocent
man willing to let go
of his campfire
in the middle of this circular
stage,
the classroom
where pupils are attentive
to the magician’s tricks. 
Dream and let that dream flood
my vigilant ghosts,
impostors of windflowers
and silk.


©  Sergio A. Ortiz, 

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