I am a prisoner of dreams.
My thoughts, stripped from time,
drift me into shadowed corners.
The gray and white melt from
day, opening at night
where eyes are teased by desert
spirits. The rocks of memories
are filled with ancient colors.
Rivers pull at me, oceans lick
my ankles. My voice is
underwater, agonizing for
nothing. I rise to the surface,
floating without effort.
Night fills the void of what day
Fails to fulfill.
Roger Singer 