Spirals. {Poetry}

My eyelids are caked with fairy dust,

and in the darkness
spotted with sparkles of distant light,
I wonder the way
in dreams
technicolor seems more alive
than movies, &
always more startling
in the way
the threads of the story
weave
together lost beads,
feathers forgotten
in the spiraling of time
like sands through an hourglass,
and yet
the scent of sea salt
is heavy
as I sit on an old couch
pillows worn around the edges
as a hint of sepia colored light
fills the cabin, & I’m surrounded
by a collection
of people
all ages and all walks of life,
you are there,
telling me
about plant spirit medicine,
so I listen
because
that’s what we do
in dreams,
pause for a moment
or what isn’t
even a solid second,
but a brief hesitation
in the spirals of space
in which I hear you,
a reflection
of me,
offer advice
in the folds of dreamtime
as images
superimpose,
sepia
into velvety green
of ferns in a forest,
so healing images blend
into light
of the morning sky,
as I awaken,
rubbing the fairy dust flakes
out of my eyes,
& wonder
if I’ll meet
a plant spirit medicine healer
in the spiral of time
that’s called today.

Copyright 2015 ~ Jes Wright

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