the same dream

the lid of winter
rattling in the wind
with a certain sense of detachment
make themselves mute
Time is a strange attractor
A thousand miles
the sandy sound when I scratch my face
the ocean behind my eyes
which I keep closed
lest they flood the world with light
the shimmering night
the weight of this city
its river of secrets
I dream the same dream every night
a fire in a field
leaves run in circles
around my ankles
there is a stone
in the palm of my hand
satellites skirt the edge of the horizon
I plant a seed in the soil
in the ashes of the fire
and I wait

This work by Hamish Low is licensed under CC BY-NC 4.0 For any other usage of this work, please get in contact.