I pulled down a dream.
Opened like a present.
I feel a full sun warming me;
breezes reinforce the
moment.
Beach grass bends to rhythm.
Bicycles, open shirts,
uncombed hair. Faces without
voices. Water reflections.
Warm freshly tarred roads.
The fragrance of low tide.
Corners without
boundaries.
Each day writes its own menu.
Radios speak in concert over sand.
It was an open window.
Freedom not to return, except by
dreams.
Roger Singer 