Dreaming,
I close my eyes
and float clear sighted,
attaching the threads
of inchoate dream
to passing clouds
fat with wet promise
of future storm.
I soar,
And lie expectant,
buffeted by the winds
of chance and fancy,
passing thoughts reigning,
separated by--yet tied to logic's grasp,
but loosely held,
as visions form
and flee laughingly
from what might be real,
or might be dream,
I open my mind
and gather beauty
in drops of sunlit
Joy.