There is a circle of growth,
a watering of slumber, as the
eyes retreat to the outlands of
shadows where incoming messages
open to hallways of sleep.
We are captured in the snare of
unknown vapors.
Feet move. Hands reach. We
respond with half words to voices
at the backdoor of our thoughts.
We twitch at sounds from within
while running someplace.
The past speaks. Faces forgotten
say hello. We whisper names.
Songs wander from open car windows.
Storms drench as we seek shelter.
….we awake, wondering for a moment
where we are.
Roger Singer 