The Azure Roots of Dreaming

With eyes shut tight,
Lost in liquid darkness,
Other worlds unfold in whispers.
I find myself hovering in formless vastness
In the amniotic infinity
Where beginnings dissolve into endings, 
And change pulses through me like a tide.

I can feel something in me changing,
The throes of some uneven death.
I am translucent to the woes of disappointment.
I hear notes reverberating further away
Hinting at some long-lost unity.

My hands extend like invisible capillaries.
I can graze my fingertips on the unknowable,
Tracing the azure roots of dreaming,
The forgotten primal movement
From which spring the ethereal foundations
Of all that is significant and real.

We teem with motives and meanings, 
Bound by the threads of memory's web.
Yet our voices echo only briefly, 
Through the occupied vacuum of space and time. 
Our voices will not be carried forever
Through the interstice of our hours,
By the finitude of our laughter.

Surrounded by dim shadows, 
I once again tread the narrow path of dawn.
Clear-sighted, with a lighter chest.
All psychopomps must return alone.
An origami of light and shadows.