All my former lives gather at night
thrusting their way forward
into the half-light of my drowsy mind.
Alive and thriving, they descend
from midnight’s tree of knowledge
and besiege me with grasping fingers.
Do my dreams fish these colors and shapes
from my own interior seas?
Or do they watch and wait for these spirits
to emerge from sleep’s cocoon
and be reborn in fiery blocks of color?
My neighbor’s dog greets the dawn
barking bright sparks of color
into secluded corners of my waking mind.
I dream dark angels with butterfly bodies,
their inverted wings spread over my head.