A waking dream, Point of View, Harper's Ferry, September 19th 2016

I awoke to the gray soft cotton wisps surrounding the house
the silence of slumber over the foliage, the wisps spriting
the shallows between the trees, like teasing ghosts
tendrils snaking throughout my memories, once upon
a dream I walked down the side of this mountain of
thought, watching in the places where the mist has
been brought, like the leaves fallen from the branches
the mazes of webs where these mysteries are caught.
I am akin to the pleasures of the spirits that haunt this
northern wood. All that I am, all that I would want to be,
all that I was before I came here under the veil, under
the hood, the cover of night that slips away in the invisible
dawn, the secrets of starlight, the placement of the moon
from the wells of midnight, the water of life is drawn. I walk
awake as my body sleeps on the cotton sheets. I pull the blanket
of the darkness around my shoulders, the chill is in the air, I
count the meteors falling, their bright flames as if they're calling
down to me, come home, fair child, there is no rest for you down
deep in the shadowy lands, be gone from those forgotten places.