Irrigated minefields -
these forays into the past,
these ventures into the future,
dancing between blows,
skating on dynamite,
on a TNT hammering heart.
So I have a few flaky dreams left.
Just two, just three, just
one lonely dozen.
Moistened with a kiss
that wandered loose from its mark.
I sense stray hopes looming,
lost sheep to count
for those who cannot sleep,
but dream awake, staring,
staring down shadows so hard
sight illuminates shapes -
real or imagined, only morning will tell -
trace the ragged edges
of mismatched faces,
old, young, worn, with scars
stitched like pearl necklaces
where yet unclaimed dreams
shine in the dark
like teeth.
(Published in the July 2003 issue of Poems Niederngasse)
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