Brown Study
Adele Juliet Margolis
Behind eyelids heavy with sleep and dreams a doorway opens.
Beyond lies the ocean.
blue and green and white all foaming as one
wave washing up.
Cold water tickles my legs
as I scramble to stay dry.
I climb steps formed from rocks created
by my mind.
Climbing higher than anyone
I look down at sand and water.
Wind whips my hair
Medusa-like
but there won't be tangles.
There are never tangles in dreams.
Standing by the surf once again
(another advantage of dreams —
no climbing down,
nor shins scratched by sharp stones
with unnatural blood lust)
I spy a boat in the distance.
I look again, but it's gone.
It will be back when I call.
Clouds drift overhead lazy as hot afternoons
filled with colorful characters
straight from a fairy tale.
These things please me,
so I let them be,
knowing that in my reverie
the world is mine to twist and contort as I will.
Towards morning the door creeps shut.
As my mind, reluctantly, puts away the toys of night,
and picks up the tools of day,
occasionally,
a fragment will stay with me.
And I,
bemused,
will grin.
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